Avenging Angel
by Celestial Fury
Summary: A Bryan Fury fic - His death, resurrection, and encounters with an original character. It is a tale of violence, love, justice, and finding your place in the world. In other words, it flat-out rocks. For the old fans that STILL read this, a completely re-
1. Title Page Disclaimer Thingy

Avenging Angel  
  
By Celestial Fury  
faranth_dragon_queen@yahoo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: This is a FANFICTION. Bryan Fury, Jin Kazama, and all Tekken-related characters and events are property of Namco Arcade.  
  
This fanfiction is rated R for violence, language, alcohol use, and some adult content. Viewer discretion is advised. 


	2. Raising the Curtain

Five years ago...  
  
"Hey, Sarge, check this out!"  
  
"What now... Damn! Who the hell did that?"  
  
"I believe it was the new guy, Fury. He's just outside. Should I send him in, sir?"  
  
The Sarge nodded and leaned back in his chair. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and took another look at the pictures in front of him. They were of two men, rapists, who'd been caught by the new officer driving by. Word had spread fast that Officer Fury took martial arts, and apparently he'd felt the need to prove it. The two men had been beaten to a bloody pulp. They'd get sued for police brutality, sure enough, and the flak would all be aimed at Fury.   
  
He was a lone wolf, that one, and needed a partner. One should never let the new guy run around without an experienced officer to guide him. This guy was different, and made the Sarge a bit nervous.  
  
Fury entered the office and looked around. Recognitions for bravery and service lined the wall of Police Chief Henry McGarett, along with the mandatory diploma from the police academy. The Chief himself was a rather large man, with more around his waist than his shoulders. A tie hung loosely from his neck, and sweat glistened on the bald head. He was police chief, but everyone called him Sarge from his days in the army.  
  
In turn, the Sarge studied Officer Bryan Fury. He was tall, a bit over six feet, and so fit it was scary. His shoulders were expansive, and his entire torso was frighteningly well muscled, as well as the long legs.  
  
The facial features were sharp, and painfully hawkish. A shock of brown hair was kept close-cut, and the eyebrows were a bit lighter. The eyes were deep-set, cold and unblinking, an icy steel-blue that made one instantly look away from the intensity. They'd already given him a nickname, 'Snake Eye,' and he certainly lived up to it. A black tattoo ran around the back and sides of his neck, in some tribal design. Must have hurt like hell. He was dressed in his day uniform, and the well-polished badge glittered brightly from the lapel. He was a young buck, fresh from the academy, and all the new recruits just LOVED to see themselves in their uniforms.  
  
He was a tough-guy cop with an attitude problem and a penchant for foul language. He also had a violent streak a mile wide. NOBODY stole Fury's donuts and got away with it. The last guy had gotten three fingers broken, bent back to the wrist. Fury had been given a month's probation, but now he was taking out his agression on the criminals, it seemed.  
  
"Have a seat, kid." The Sarge indicated a battered chair in front of him, and Fury sat down with a cold look in his eyes. "How old are you, son?"  
  
"Twenty-four, sir."  
  
"How long have you been on the force?"  
  
"I signed up for the academy as soon as I got out of high school. I graduated two years ago."  
  
The Sarge leaned back and sighed. Fury had only been in his particular precinct for a few months, and the Sarge hadn't been able to introduce himself earlier. Now, he was getting more than he asked for. "Twenty-four years old," he said mostly to himself. "I can barely remember that age, you know that? I'm fifty-five. And in my twenty-five years of police duty, I have never seen anything like this. The army's a different story."  
  
He tossed the photos to Fury, who glanced briefly at them before chucking them at the trash can. "Now, Officer Fury, you wanna explain to me why you beat those boys so bad? According to the other officers, you beat at least one of them over a minute after he started screamin' surrender."  
  
Fury fixed the Sarge with a cold stare, and it was all the Sarge could do to maintain eye contact. "They gang-raped her, sir. What did you fucking want me to do, lock 'em up all nice and sweet, and be careful not to hurt 'em? Something pussywhipped like that? God dammit..."  
  
"Watch your language, son. This was police brutality, not justice. We're almost guaranteed to get sued for this, and I'm gonna take it all out of your hide. You're almost more trouble than you're worth..."  
  
Fury bit back an angry reply. Why DID he lose it like that? Maybe something to do with the two punks gang-raping a screaming woman, with the woman's little kid watching and crying? Damn, these people were all politics and no justice. Whatever happened to the good old days that everyone kept talking about, where the criminals were shot on sight? THAT would have been fun.  
  
"...which is why I'm sending you to another spot. I know an organization that needs somebody like you. You're tough, don't take crap from nobody, and you're able to play both sides. Just what they need."  
  
Fury raised an eyebrow. "Who, the IRS?"  
  
The Sarge belly-laughed. "No, nothing like that. Somebody else. Fine, it's Interpol. They can't find any good recruits nowadays, and those they DO find are always afraid of gettin' hurt."  
  
"I'm sure. Everybody's a wuss nowadays."  
  
The Sarge gave Fury a pained look. "Look, kid... I only asked because you're one violation away from being fired. This job doesn't suit you. Now, Interpol's been watching me for a while, because I told 'em I'd find somebody for them."  
  
"And what makes you think I'm that somebody?"  
  
"Because it's a dirty, violent job, and you seem to enjoy that kind of thing. Because I'm ass-deep in police brutality lawsuits. Because I need officers with UNBROKEN hands on the job."  
  
"Wasn't like he wasn't warned about trying to steal my donuts," was Fury's smartass reply.  
  
"For Christ's sake, Fury, get off your tough-guy attitude and listen! Being a street officer isn't what suits you. Detective Wulong himself asked me about you."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"You been living under a rock or something? Lei Wulong is Interpol's top-ranking detective, from Hong Kong. His latest partner quit because he was afraid for his family, so Detective Wulong asked me to find a replacement. He specifically requested somebody mean, and you're the meanest son of a bitch I've ever met."  
  
This interested Fury. "I'll think it over." He stood, and was halfway out the door, when the Sarge called to him.  
  
"Hey, Fury! I think it'd work for you!"  
  
Fury gave a cold smile, and left.  
  
***********************************************  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
Deep in the heart of the Mishima Zaibatsu, a lone figure sat in a dark office, his eyes fixed on the television screen. There was an angry scowl on his lips. He was watching live feed of the latest genetic specimen at work. He was not pleased.  
  
"Too slow," the figure growled in Japanese. "She was faster last time. What happened? She should be more consistent. She is imperfect, like the last one." The eyes narrowed. "Have you failed me again, Abel?"  
  
In one corner of the screen was a view of Dr. Abel, a short bald man who was the creator of the specimen before him. Abel twitched nervously. "No, Mishima-sama, I swear I have not failed you. She was slower this time because the target was better trained than her previous ones. She learns quickly, however. Here, I shall send her after another one."  
  
Heihachi Mishima watched as another Owl was thrust into the well-lit arena. The Owl, clearly nervous, swung his head back and forth, trying to sight his attacker before-  
  
Slash!  
  
The Owl fell soundlessly, crumpling to the ground in a heap. Standing over him was the specimen, who immediately bent to clean the bloody knife on the Owl's uniform before straightening to face Abel respectfully. "Better, Abel-sama?"  
  
Standing before Dr. Abel was a thirteen-year-old girl. Her features were American, but her Japanese was flawless. She was an albino, or at least designed to look like one. Her skin was a pale, almost gray color. Her hair was a metallic silver, and was currently pulled back in a long ponytail. Her most prominent features, however, were a pair of deep, lavendar eyes. They were incredibly intense, and everyone who looked into them immediately looked away from her piercing gaze.  
  
She was the product of over thirty years of intense genetic research, and she was basically perfect. Tall, thin, incredibly strong without visibly showing it, plus a few... other abilities. She was a near-genius, and her razor-sharp mind was incredibly dangerous. She was a telepath, of sorts, and they'd spent years training her to use her empathy to sense nearby people with hostile intent. It had saved her life countless times.  
  
She was stronger, faster, smarter, and deadlier than any human being on the face of the planet. In Japan, they called her Tenshi. When they sent her to America, her name was Angel.  
  
At the moment, Angel faced her creator with quiet humility, and waited for a response. Abel was waiting for a response from Heihachi.  
  
"Better," Heihachi growled. "Continue to improve her; we may pull ahead of schedule after all." He abruptly severed the connection, and sat back in his chair with a considerably more pleasant look on his otherwise unpleasant face.  
  
"Mishima-sama was pleased," Abel reported to his subject. "He wishes you to improve even more."  
  
"Yes, Abel-sama."  
  
"Do you wish to go for another round before retiring for the night?"  
  
"No, Abel-sama. I wish to rest now, to better prepare for more training tomorrow."  
  
"Very good. Go, then, until I summon you again."  
  
"Yes, Abel-sama. Thank you for your instructions." Angel abruptly spun on her heel and headed for her sparse, meager quarters. She was pleased with herself, as well. She'd killed the last Owl much quicker than the first one. A low smile appeared on her lips as she quietly walked the halls of the Zaibatsu. 


	3. Innocence Lost

Two years ago...  
  
"Hey, Bryan, you okay?"  
  
"Does it look like I'm okay to you? Damn, this hurts."  
  
Lei Wulong was standing in the doorway of the men's room at the local police precinct in Hong Kong. The Chinese detective looked on as Bryan Fury dabbed the still-bleeding cut on his face and chest with a blood-soaked towel. Damn, it stung! Once it finally scabbed over he examined it.   
  
Standing shirtless before the mirror, Bryan almost cried at the damage. There would be a long, nasty-looking scar. It started just above his left eye, and continued down his face until just above the corner of his mouth. On his chest, it started at his collarbone and twisted its way down to his waist. He'd been very lucky that his antagonist had missed his eye.  
  
Lei examined his partner with a discerning eye. They'd been partners for almost two years, now. Bryan's brown hair was going prematurely gray, to his eternal shame. Probably from stress. His facial features hadn't been exactly handsome to begin with, and now the cut on his face made him look downright frightening. The eyes had always been that unblinking steel-blue, and they had aquired an intensity to them that made one look away the second you saw them.  
  
Bryan noticed his partner examining him, and grinned. "Boy, I knew I had frighteningly good looks before, but this is ridiculous."  
  
Lei gave a small sigh of relief. At least he wasn't obsessing over it. Oh well. Bryan was like that.  
  
"Anyway, I was wondering if you got a look at my attacker. She got away, dammit, and I want to pay her back."  
  
"We didn't find a single living soul in that alley, except for you. And then, you were screaming fit to kill, clutching your face and bawling like a baby-" Lei broke off and ducked as the bloody towel barely missed his face. "Hey, now! That's playing dirty."  
  
"I was NOT bawling. I was merely... expressing my current state of emotion, that's all."  
  
"Right."  
  
They bantered back and forth good-naturedly as Bryan gingerly slipped on one of his favorite T-shirts. Then, still bickering, they exited the police station. Once in Lei's car (Bryan's was still in that alley), Lei immediately turned to his partner. "Bryan, what's going on?"  
  
Bryan shot a blank look at his Chinese partner. "What the hell kind of question is that?"  
  
"You've been avoiding me lately. You never report in. Come on, Bryan, how is your case progressing?"  
  
Bryan sighed. "It's getting pretty heavy in there. I should probably pull out while I still can, but my instincts tell me that I'm about to stumble onto something big. Really big. As in, so big that it may actually screw over a LOT of really important people."  
  
Lei whistled. "What people would that be, exactly?"  
  
"Not sure, really, but I think tonight was a message to stay clean." He snorted. "Clear message."  
  
"Message from who?"  
  
"I don't know, dammit, now quit asking me!"   
  
He was ducking the question. He knew, he just didn't want to say. Odd. Normally Bryan was totally honest with his partner. From the looks of things, Lei correctly guessed that Bryan was having trouble.  
  
"Bryan, if you're in over your head, just say so. We can have you pulled off the case in no time."  
  
Bryan shook his head. "Can't. I'm the go-between for two of Hong Kong's biggest, meanest gangs, plus the as-of-yet unnamed drug supplier. You pull me out now, and you can kiss this city goodbye."  
  
"That bad, huh?" Bryan nodded. "Well, you know that if you need anything, you can just tell me, right?" Bryan nodded again, but Lei saw something in his friend's eyes. Bryan was scared of something, but wasn't saying. Lei resolved to keep a better eye on his partner, and then put the car in gear to drive back to Bryan's apartment.  
  
As Bryan stepped out of the car, he turned to his partner.  
  
"Hey, Lei?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"No problem." Bryan disappeared inside the apartment building. Lei looked after him. He didn't realized that it would be the last time he saw his partner for a very long time.  
  
****************************************************  
  
Meanwhile...  
  
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!  
  
Angel's fists beat the punching bag mercilessly as she worked out her bad mood. Her anger was mostly directed at Abel-sama. So she'd disobeyed an order. So fucking what? No need to go all psycho on her. Her ribs still smarted from the beating that his personal bodyguards had administered, before she'd strangled one of them and kicked another in the balls. The two remaining antagonists had backed away very quickly after that. Then Abel-sama had sent her here.  
  
She didn't understand herself lately, either. She supposed that that thing called 'puberty' was beginning to kick in. She was just sixteen. She was feeling rebellious, and it showed. Maybe Abel-sama would give her a little breathing room now. She'd been quite moody lately. Several guards had suffered unmerciful beatings at her whim, and vice versa.  
  
The order was one that Angel considered trivial. She'd been told to kill an undercover cop. She'd almost dealt the killing blow when the sirens started screaming. The cop got away, but not clean. She'd left a nasty little reminder on his face, one he'd see for the rest of his life.  
  
She worked out for another hour until Abel-sama sent one of his guards to fetch her. She followed the guard silently to Abel's lab. He gave her a stony glare. "Angel, I am very disappointed in you."  
  
"Mistakes happen. It was inevitable that I had to leave early to avoid being caught. I couldn't exactly eliminate twenty policemen, now could I?"  
  
"You will watch your tone with me!"  
  
Angel bowed her head. "Yes, Abel-sama. Please forgive me."  
  
"Right. Now, I've decided that you're ready to move on to the next phase in your existence."  
  
"And that would be...?"  
  
"I am sending you to America, to learn how the people live life there. You must learn to interact properly within a family environment in order to blend in with society. No self-respecting assassin would last five minutes without this crucial knowledge. You will have a father-figure. You will go to a public high school, and you will get a job. You will learn to blend perfectly with everyone. Then, you will be ready to accept your destiny."  
  
"Abel-sama... are you sure about this?"  
  
"Yes! You must never question me!"  
  
"Yes, Abel-sama."  
  
"There is one thing that I'm afraid you won't appreciate." He paused, and sighed. "Angel, we're going to have to wipe your memory."  
  
"Do WHAT now?"  
  
"Yes, that's right. You must have your memory erased. For the next five years, you will live as a normal person would, excepting that you continue your martial arts training. Once the five years are up, you will come back here, and your memories will be restored."  
  
Angel was speechless. Wipe her memories? She wasn't sure that she liked this. Not at all. She decided to venture a question. "How exactly would you go about erasing my memory?"  
  
"Very simply, with the aid of young Master Kazama. Young Kazama-sama, you may enter now."  
  
Angel turned to see a figure enter Abel's office. It was a young Japanese boy, who looked to be just slightly younger than her. His jet-black hair was slicked back to a point, like a drill, excepting for sparse bangs in the front. He was wearing a light jacket, and what looked like black gi pants. His feet were encased in sneakers. Oddly enough, there were sparring gloves on his hands.  
  
The young man bowed. "I am Jin Kazama. I heard you needed my help with something, Dr. Abel?" He spoke in broken English. Angel winced at the accent; it was thick enough to cut with a knife.  
  
"Yes, young Master. This specimen needs her memory erased, to better improve her focus on her next assignment." Kazama looked unsure. "Besides, young Master, it would be another fine test of your ever-expanding abilities," Abel added.  
  
Angel sensed the nervousness of the young man. Then he looked at her, and his deep, chocolate-brown eyes burrowed into her piercing lavendar ones. "And what is your name?" He spoke in Japanese. Angel instantly knew that he was very smart; Abel-sama could barely speak Japanese, especially slang.  
  
"I am Tenshi, young Master." Angel replied, bowing deeply.  
  
"Please, call me Jin. I really don't want to do this."  
  
"Neither do I, Jin-sama, but I suppose that it must be done."  
  
Abel's gaze flew from one person to the other. "Well?" He demanded in English.  
  
Jin turned to him. "I will do it."  
  
Angel turned as well. "And I will submit."  
  
Abel gave a cold smile. "Very good, the both of you. Now, shall we get started?"  
  
Without being asked, Angel moved to sit down in one of the chairs, because she knew that it was what Jin-sama was about to ask her to do. He looked surprised, then smiled. "You are gifted, too, I see." She nodded. Jin then removed his jacket, and draped it over a second chair and took a seat in a third, which he positioned directly in front of her.  
  
Angel's eyes flew to the young man's arm. "That is an interesting tattoo, Jin-sama." It was a fascinating design. Simple, yet powerful. Kinda like two lightning bolts twisted together, or something like that.  
  
Jin didn't respond. His mind-touch said that he was slightly embarassed be so close to such a sensitive mind. So, he was an empath as well. That explained how he was going to wipe her memories.  
  
He held out his hands, palms facing her, and she did the same. His fingers curled around hers, and his eyes closed for a moment. And then they flew open. Angel's mind caught a glimpse of something in them. Something wonderful, but she didn't know what. Whatever it was, it made her heart sing with joy. She didn't understand it. It was as if, in that moment, she had somehow experienced something akin to true happiness. It was an odd feeling, one Angel had never experienced.  
  
After that brief second, everything went white all around her.  
  
***************************************  
  
It was a month later that Lei got the phone call on his cell phone. The voice was familiar. "Bryan? Is that you?"  
  
"Shut up and listen. I don't have much time. You gotta get out of Hong Kong now!"  
  
"Slow down! What's going on?"  
  
"Something's gonna happen tonight. Something big. As you value your life, I suggest that you and every other cop in Hong Kong get the hell away from here." The voice lowered even more. "There's gonna be a fucking huge gang war tonight. Both gangs, in their entirity. Plus, the army of that drug company will probably make a surprise appearance, too."  
  
"Jesus, Bryan! Pull out now!"  
  
"I can't! They're watching me like a hawk. I'm hiding behind a dumpster to make this call right now."  
  
"My God. Bryan, I have to get you out of there."  
  
"Lei, please don't try. You won't succeed."  
  
"Tell me now, Bryan. Where are you?"  
  
The voice hesitated, then gave the address. "Swear you won't be there, Lei. Please."  
  
"You know I can't do that."  
  
"Dammit, Lei, stay away! They'll kill you!"  
  
"I don't care. You're my partner. I have to come and get you." Lei's voice was like iron wrapped in velvet. What on earth had Bryan gotten himself into?  
  
"Lei... Shit, somebody's coming! Stay away, man!"  
  
The connection was abruptly severed, and Lei found himself listening to a dial tone. He immediately called Interpol and explained the situation. Backup was on the way.  
  
The location was in front of a warehouse, in the run-down section of town. Night fell. Bryan paced back and forth nervously under a streetlight, and puffed heavily on a cigarette. He needed to kick the habit, he knew, but it calmed him down.  
  
Footsteps sounded, and he turned to meet their owners. It was the leaders of one of the gangs, the Tigers. Slipping in and out of the shadows, Bryan could see more Tigers positioning themselves for the fight. More footsteps behind him, and he turned to see the Cobras doing the same thing. Shit, he was right in the middle. Translators and leaders stepped forward to meet with him as the respective gangs waited. No sign of the drug dealers.  
  
They jabbered for a while, mostly the leaders at each other. Verbal shit was flung all over the place, and both sides were soon itching for the go-signal. Bryan did his best to calm them down, saying through the translators that the merchandise was on the way; he'd give both of them a fair price. More haggling, more shit was thrown. Then, just when things couldn't get any worse--  
  
The door to the warehouse that they were standing in front of suddenly flew open, and the gangs and Bryan found themeselves staring at over thirty armed and armored men and women. Sweet Jesus, Bryan thought. The dealers brought the whole fucking army.  
  
A man stepped forward from the dealer's army and stood with the knot of now-nervous men. More words were exchanged, with the military guy shouting in Chinese. It almost moved too fast for Bryan to comprehend. Then he heard the words he dreaded more than anything else in the world at that moment.  
  
Suddenly Bryan's dirty little secrets were out. He was partner to SuperCop Lei Wulong. He was grossly overcharging them on the merchandise. Worst of all, he was dipping into it himself. Bryan found himself sweating heavily as the five men stared at him, and he knew right then and there that he was a dead man. Then came the sweetest words he'd ever heard in his life: "FREEZE! POLICE!"  
  
Suddenly the little lot was flooded with searchlights, and the Chinese gangs scrambled for cover before fixing targets. The dealer's army, on the other hand, lined up in orderly groups of three: One for the Tigers, one for the Cobras, and the largest turned to face the small army that was the International Police Force. And Bryan Fury was standing in the exact center.  
  
There was utter silence for about ten seconds, then all hell broke loose. It was every group for themselves, and the little abandoned lot was turned into a war zone. Gunshots rang out, with the screams starting soon after. Bryan flattened himself on the pavement and began belly-crawling toward the Interpol cops. Once he thought he was close enough, he stood and started rushing toward them. He fired his handgun blindly over his shoulder as he raced toward his comrades. He picked out Lei's face in the crowd. Lei was screaming "GO, BRYAN, GO! YOU CAN MAKE IT!" Bryan almost thought he would, too.   
  
Then, suddenly, more shots rang out. Searchlights from Interpol began sweeping the roofs of the warehouses. Bullets ricocheted off the ground in front of him. Snipers! The dealers had brought snipers! Instantly Bryan changed direction, and slipped into a nearby alley. It was quieter here, and he hoped that he could sneak back to the Interpol troops and continue the war from there. Then, footsteps. The respective leaders of the Tigers, the Cobras, and the dealer's army stepped into the alley. They spotted him, and froze for a moment.  
  
Then the two gang leaders whipped out knives and rushed him. Through sheer adrenaline alone, he knocked out both of them with a single punch. Then he faced the dealer. The dealer fixed him with a stare, though it was hard to tell through the helmet he wore. Then the long rifle slowly raised to point straight at Bryan's chest.  
  
In slow motion, four shots rang out. A searing pain ripped through Bryan's chest. He screamed in pain, and fell to the ground. Jesus Christ, he thought. The pain... he started to black out. It felt as though something had exploded inside of him. Then, another figure appeared in the alleyway behind the dealer. "BRYAN!" It was Lei Wulong, and through the death fog Bryan watched as his partner unloaded his weapon on Bryan's attacker. The dealer fell without a sound.  
  
Then Lei was kneeling beside him. "Bryan? Bryan, speak to me. We're gonna get you out of here. Everything's gonna be okay." He stopped to pull out his walkie talkie. "Officer down! We have an officer down, code red! We need medical help here now!"  
  
"Negative, detective!" came the static-filled reply. "It's a war zone out here! We can't spare anybody! We--SHIT!!" Then, silence.  
  
"Jesus Christ. Bryan..." Lei stared at his partner, laying facedown in a rapidly-expanding pool of blood. It was a wonder that Bryan was still breathing. "Bryan, I have to go help them. I swear I'll come back for you. I swear-"  
  
Bryan drew an incredibly painful breath. Lei flipped him onto his back, and Bryan's steel-blue eyes, now starting to fog over, looked into his partner's brown ones. "Go," he rasped. With the word came a trickle of blood out of his mouth.  
  
Lei hesitated for a second longer, then stood. "I swear I'll be back for you. I swear. Bryan... I'm sorry." Then he turned and raced away without looking back.  
  
Bryan watched him go. He wanted to shout after him, but his mind wouldn't work. It was getting hard to focus. Everything was so far away. The pain... His vision began to cloud over as he watched his partner walk away.  
  
Then Bryan Fury knew no more. 


	4. Reborn

*Satan, you know where I lie  
Gently I go into that good night  
  
All our lives get complicated  
Search for pleasures over-rated  
Never found our souls (?)  
What the future would hold  
We were innocent  
  
Angels, lend me your might  
Thought that all my lies  
I'd get just one right  
  
All those colors long since faded  
And all our smiles are confiscated  
Never did we know  
That we'd been bought and sold  
We were innocent*  
  
*Fuel - Innocent*  
Present day...  
  
A harsh, bitter wind swept by Bryan Fury as he stepped off the plane at the Tokyo International Airport. Almost immediately, he spotted his ride, and climbed into the long black limosine. No bags. The ride was a long one, and he used the time to catch a catnap before arriving at Abel's lab.  
  
God, he hated this place. He still remembered when Abel had brought him back to life here. It had been like waking up from a nightmare. He'd woken up, all right, with one hand wrapped firmly around an assistant's windpipe. The assistant had died quickly, and Bryan hadn't apologized for it.  
  
For bringing Bryan back to life, Abel demanded tasks of him. Get this information, kill those people--not like he had anything better to do. His life as an Interpol detective was over, no doubt. He couldn't exactly walk back into the office. He was dead, after all. Dead...  
  
That's right, he forced himself to admit. You're dead. His internal organs had been ravaged by the shower of bullets, and Bryan had eaten the sickening mix of blood and gravel for at least a minute after the shots had faded. He could still feel the pain of those bullets, and his hand absently traveled to the bullet-scars on his chest as he thought.  
  
His memory of the past, particularly his childhood, had been erased. His internal organs had needed immediate treatment, and now Bryan found himself the proud owner of a cutting-edge bio-mechanical set of organs, complete with a pacemaker-like heart, and a completely revamped digestive system. He was bullet-proof, too, with something like plastic chainmail, just under the skin in his front and back. He was a goddamn cyborg.  
  
The thing that really disturbed him were his emotions, or lack thereof. He couldn't feel happy or sad anymore. All he could feel was bitterness. He became cynical, and sarcastic, and increasingly rude to everyone. His emotions faded to memories, and nearly disappeared. He'd feel sad about that, if he could.  
  
As to Abel's tasks, they gave him something to do, and exploited his rage over his betrayal. The first people he'd killed, once brought back to life, were the gang leaders, as well as a few choice cops he'd never liked. He couldn't find Lei, not that he wanted to. No sadness equals no remorse, remember?  
  
It was a half a year now since the King of Iron Fist Tournament 3. He'd been brought back only two weeks after his death, and had spent the time from then till now doing tasks and running errands for Dr. Abel. Now, all that was about to change.  
  
The limosine pulled through the wrought iron gates and up the drive to the garage, where Bryan stepped out. He knew his way to Abel's lab, and headed there immediately. He wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him.  
  
Abel's lab was almost completely bare. No stacked papers, no big filing cabinets. The large computers were gone. All that was left were some cardboard boxes, and a few chairs. Abel was directing the removal when he spotted Bryan.  
  
"Fury! Why did you return so late? I expected results much sooner than this." Abel's voice was the last thing Bryan wanted to hear.  
  
"I can't find him! It's like his disappeared. None of my sources know where-"  
  
"Failure! I will hear no more of your excuses! I am done with you! Goodbye, failure!" That said, Abel turned his back on Bryan and once again directing the cleanup when he felt Bryan's black-gloved hand close around his windpipe.  
  
"You wanna run that by me again?" His voice was low and deep, and even through the gloves he could feel the blood pulsing in Abel's veins.  
  
"I said I am done with you! I don't need you any more! I've been hired as the chief scientist for the Mishima Zaibatsu, and they already have a much more challenging project in store for me. So, get out of my sight!" How Abel managed to keep his cool, he had no idea. He'd been staring into the coldest eyes in the world, and even through Bryan's gloves, he could feel the cyborg's icy touch. His breath was the only thing warm about him, and it was a bit sour.  
  
Bryan's features tightened, as did his grip, and for a moment it seemed to the entire room that the cyborg would strangle the little man right then and there. Then the grip loosened, and Abel dropped to the ground. "You bastard..." it was the only thing that came out of Bryan's mouth for several seconds. Abel climbed to his feet.  
  
"If you must stay, then I suppose that I do have something for you to do. Here-" Abel tossed Bryan a manila envelope full of papers. "Another failing project of mine. If you truly feel the need, you can be a part of that one. You should be dead in a few months, anyway. Now get out of my sight!"  
  
Bryan stared at Abel for a second, trying vainly to display all his hatred for the little man in a single look. It was all Abel could do to maintain eye contact. Then abruptly Bryan spun on his heel and exited the lab, slamming the glass door so hard that it shattered.  
  
An hour later found Bryan on a plane back to America. He reviewed the folder's contents for the millionth time.  
  
It was a little something known as 'The Angel Project,' gone sour because the subject was becoming rebellious and uncontrollable. The subject needed a stable figure, one that she could look up to. Yeah, Bryan supposed he could at least do this. Some kind of simulated family environment. Be a positive role model, yadda yadda. He almost decided not to do it, but something persuaded him otherwise. What else could he do, be a contract killer? Tempting, but he didn't have the patience.  
  
The girl's name (why a girl?) was Angel. He studied a photograph. She was tall, and thin. She had gleaming silver hair (like Lee Chaolan's). Her skin was pale, almost gray. Her lavendar eyes were incredibly piercing, like his. One look from her sent shivers down your spine, even from a photograph!  
  
She was a stunning martial arts master. Shotokan, aikido, kenpo, kung fu, Tae Kwon Do... the list went on and on. This kid was a freakin' GrandMaster martial artist at the age of 17. As for her track record... she'd never lost a fight, as far as he could tell. Not only was she a skilled martial artist, she was well-trained in hand weapons, and preferred knives above all others. She hated guns, because they took the challenge out of the fight. No surprise; she was a skilled marksman as well. Jesus. She was the perfect soldier. So, why was the project going under?  
  
The file was plain: Due to the gross inexperience of her guardian, one Kenji Takahashi, she was becoming increasingly rude and confrontational. She was also an extreme loner. And--Jesus Christ, she'd already attempted suicide. No friends, no family, only a heartless bastard raising her... no wonder Kenji was fearing for his life now. Bryan would be, too.  
  
Bryan spent the rest of the flight pouring over the files, and catching up on his sleep. Once at his destination, he took a cab to the current address listed on the file. A quaint little two-story (could it be anything but?), complete with a large, elaborate Japanese garden surrounding the house. He'd barely taken five steps toward the house when the barking started.  
  
He froze in his tracks when a huge ball of fur and teeth flew from the back of the house. It planted itself about five feet from Bryan, and took a "guard dog" type stance, barking and showing its teeth. It was easily the biggest German Shepherd he'd ever seen. Christ, he'd seen smaller ponies at the zoo. Then came the call from the house. Something yelled in Japanese. Instantly the dog stopped barking, and sat quietly regarding him.  
  
Out of the house stepped the person who could only be Kenji Takahashi. A short Japanese man with a cane. "Who are you?" His voice was sharp, and so nasal as to be painful.  
  
"Abel sent me." Bryan's voice was cold and clear, but his eyes never left the mammoth dog-mountain in front of him. "Nice dog."  
  
"Abel sent you? What for? And that's not my dog; it's HERS."  
  
"He decided I needed a change of pace, and apparently thought I'd make a good family man. The name's Fury. Bryan Fury."  
  
"Family? YOU would pose as Tenshi's father? You are a bit young, aren't you? Besides, I am Tenshi's father."  
  
Bryan gave a short, dry laugh. "Not father. I was thinking more along the lines of 'brother.' Abel's worried about this project failing, and sent me to give you a hand."  
  
Kenji drew himself to his full height, which was about to Bryan's chest. "I am NOT failing. SHE is becoming disobedient. I am controlling her perfectly fine, and don't need you."  
  
"Yeah, whatever. I'm staying, and that's that. You got a problem with that?" Bryan's tone was dangerous. "Now, where is she?"  
  
Kenji glanced at the clock after giving Bryan a heavy glare. "She is still in school right now. After that, she'll probably go to that BAR."  
  
At the mention of a bar, Bryan's eyes lit up. "She hangs out at a bar? I thought she was underage."  
  
"She is. She drinks sodas."  
  
Bryan shrugged. "Whatever. Gimme the address, I'll wait for her there."  
  
Kenji glared. "Why must you come here? I have this situation perfectly under control, and don't need-"  
  
"Look, you little bastard. I don't give a shit about your little problems. She not listening to you? Tough cookies. Now gimme that address, before I break your fucking arm."  
  
Kenji paled, then straightened. Trying to regain some measure of control, he attempted to stare Bryan down. He failed miserably. "You may stay, only if you think you can control her. She no longer listens to me."  
  
A cold smile oozed from the thin line that was Bryan's mouth. "She'll listen to me, all right." 


	5. Pale Knight

*I don't know what you're looking for  
You haven't found any favors, that's for sure  
You ripped me up, you spread me all around  
In the dust of the deed and time (?)  
  
And this is not a case of lust, you see  
It's not a matter of you versus me  
It's fine, the way you watch me on your own  
But in the end, it's always me alone  
  
And I'm losing my favorite game  
You're losing your mind again  
I'm losing my baby,  
Losing my favorite game*  
  
*The Cardigans - My Favorite Game*  
  
Jerry's Bar was a small, respectable place on a street corner downtown. It was supposed to be a sports bar, but there was only one TV in the whole place. Bryan grimaced as he stepped out of the taxi. It was almost TOO clean for his liking. Hell, the doormat had a smiley face and said HAVE A NICE DAY! on it. He wiped some mud on the mat before entering.  
  
The lighting was considerably dimmer inside, and it took Bryan's eyes a moment to adjust. A few pool tables, some booths in the back corners, and a scattering of tables throughout. Bottles of nearly every alcoholic beverage imaginable neatly lined the shelves behind the bar. The tables and barstools were mostly empty, but there was a heated game of pool in one corner, with some heavy betting going on.  
  
Bryan sat down at one of the empty tables, to order a beer and watch the game while waiting for Angel. He attracted more than a few stares, and he returned each and every one of them until the antagonists looked away. More time passed than he realized, and he was on his fourth beer and second football game when he felt the tap on his shoulder.  
  
"Excuse me, sir, but this is my private table."  
  
Bryan turned in his seat to find an incredibly attractive woman staring at him. A brown-eyed blonde, with a martini in one hand and a pocketbook in the other. She was wearing long slacks and a conservative blouse, and he guessed that she'd just gotten off work or something. He decided to play it difficult, his usual tactic when he saw a hot chick. "I don't see your name on it."  
  
She looked suddenly uncomfortable. "This is my private table, sir. I'm asking you to leave."  
  
"I know what you're asking, sweetheart, and I'm saying that I don't see your name on this table."  
  
"You don't even know my name."  
  
"Then why don't you tell me, and I'll look for it."  
  
She hesitated. "Cassandra."  
  
"Cassandra, huh? Fine, I'll look... nope, don't see it. Maybe you'd like to share it with me instead."  
  
What a jackass. She frowned, then turned towards the bar. "Hey, Angel? Could you give me a hand, here?"  
  
Angel was here already? Damn, he hadn't seen her come in. He followed Cassandra's gaze to the figure seated at the far end of the bar. Angel's head popped up, and looked over. She'd been doing homework or something; there were schoolbooks in front of her. Angel sighed, and put her pencil down. She crossed her arms over her chest as she approached Cassandra's table. "Hey, buddy, this is this lady's private table. She asked you nicely. Now I'm telling you to move."  
  
Bryan decided to keep being difficult. He wanted to see what she'd do. "Or else what? What are you gonna do if I don't, superkid?"  
  
"I think I'll start with cramming that beer bottle down your throat. How's that?"  
  
"How cute. The kid's gonna beat me up."  
  
"Listen, freakshow, if you don't move your ass right now, I will move it for you. And it won't be pleasant."  
  
Bryan stood up, and towered over her. "Try me."  
  
"Fine." Faster than the eye could follow, Angel's hands whipped out and wrapped around Bryan's throat. She grunted slightly, and Bryan was shocked to find himself being lifted into the air. Then she made a slow 180-degree turn, and set Bryan on his feet. On the other side of her was Cassandra, who smirked before sitting down at her table. Angel had picked him up and moved him. Just like that. She was STRONG!  
  
They faced each other, and then he saw Angel's eyes widen a bit. Like she'd been startled or something. She stared fixedly at him, as though trying to place him. He waited. Did she suspect something?  
  
Angel's mind raced. This guy looked familiar. She let her mind wander a bit, and it focused on the long, wicked-looking scar on his face. That scar... she'd seen it before, somewhere. If only she could remember her past, she'd surely know who he was. "You... look familiar. I know you, don't I?" It was more of a statement than a question.  
  
Bryan started. Angel felt his mind race. He knows exactly who I am, she thought. He knows me. That's why he's here. He knows me. She waited for a response.  
  
Bryan finally opened his mouth to respond. "Yeah, I know all about you. I've been looking for you." Angel's heart nearly stopped, but she waited for more. "Let's step outside, where we can talk."  
  
Hurriedly Angel gathered her things, and joined Bryan outside. He was dressed in a skin-tight black T-shirt, a gray jacket, dress shoes, and... good lord. Snakeskin pants? This guy was wearing snakeskin pants. Fake snakeskin, by the look of it, but still... His features were tight and hawklike. The long, wicked scar traveled down the left side of his face from above the eye to just above the lips, and she could see it start up again at his collarbone. He had some weird black tattoo on both sides of his neck. His hair was a weird silver-white color, almost like hers. His skin was a chalky color, really pasty, like somebody who stayed indoors all the time. Creepy color, she thought. Like death.  
  
His most distinguishing characteristic were the eyes. They were an unblinking steel-blue, and he had the look of someone who was perpetually angry. Those eyes. They seemed to burn holes in her as she studied him. Again, she had the weirdest feeling of deja vu.  
  
In turn, he studied her. Long metallic silver hair, down to the shoulderblades. A pale, almost snowy-white color to her skin. She wore a light gray shirt, and blue jeans. Sneakers, too. Over it all was a long black trenchcoat. Her eyes were a lavendar color. They were just as intense as his, and were fixed on him.  
  
He decided to speak first, and set an easy pace as they walked down the street. "Like I said before, I've been looking for you. The name's Fury. Bryan Fury."  
  
"Angel Leah." He noticed the way she pronouced it. Lee. She continued. "It seems like I know you from somewhere, but I can't remember. I can't remember anything about my past. How much do you know about me?"  
  
"More than you want to."  
  
She shot him a funny look. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Just that there's a lot of history, and not all of it is pretty. In fact, most of it is downright ugly."  
  
"I think I figured that out already. I mean, why else would I have all these scars on me?" Bryan looked sharply at her, but she was looking down and talking to herself. She noticed him looking at her, and wordlessly pulled her hands out of her pockets and thrust them toward him for inspection. They stopped beneath a street light, and then Bryan's look turned to shock. Her snowy-white hands were criss-crossed with dozens of tiny cuts and scratches. He knew what they were instantly. Knife cuts. From when they were training her to use knives. Not everybody would be perfect starting out, but this...  
  
She continued. "I can't remember a damn thing about my past. The only things I can remember start just a bit under two years ago. My goddamn foster father knows more than he's telling me, but I can't get him to say a thing about it. GOD DAMN IT!" She turned suddenly and smashed her fist against a large Post Office mailbox. She grunted, and cradled her injured hand in the other, and started stomping away. Bryan was shocked to see a huge dent in the mailbox. He stared for a moment, then caught up to her.  
  
"What the hell did you do that for?"  
  
"Because it pisses me off that I don't know anything about myself." She looked at him. "And I suppose you have all the answers?"  
  
"No, I don't. I don't remember anything about my past either." That was a lie; he knew damn well about his past. His childhood was a bit foggy, but other than that, he had perfect recall.  
  
She looked at him. "You're lying."  
  
"How do you-"  
  
"Because I can always tell when someone is lying to me. And you're lying."  
  
He studied an ever-changing spot on the ground about six feet in front of him as they continued their stroll. "Fine. I do remember. I just wish I didn't."  
  
They were silent for a moment. Experimentally Angel popped the knuckles on her injured hand, winced, then stuffed both hands back into the trenchcoat pockets. "So, then. Why are you here?"  
  
"Not quite sure. I've been looking for you, true, because I have something to tell you. Not sure how to say it, though-"  
  
Suddenly she whirled and grabbed him by the lapels. "Stop beating around the goddamn bush! Spit it out, dammit! Who the hell are you?" Her face was livid, and her eyes seemed to throw sparks. He was about to answer, when there were footsteps behind her.  
  
Angel whirled to see a group of street thugs. She recognized this particular group. They were the Breakers, or something like that. She'd kicked their asses several times already, but they didn't seem to get the message. Angel counted six thugs.  
  
"Hey, cutie pie! You wanna have a good time?" The leader's voice was thick, and well laced with alcohol.  
  
Angel took a step backward and batted the air between them. "What did you have for dinner? A skunk? Man, your breath is rank!"  
  
The drunk frowned. "Hey, no need to be a smartass. We just wanna show you a good time, don't we, guys?" The thugs snickered.  
  
Bryan stepped in front of Angel, and the thug started to back away. "Hey, dumbass. Why don't you leave my little sister alone before I rip you a new one?" He turned his head slightly to guage Angel's reaction.  
  
Angel stared at him, her jaw slack, a genuinely shocked and dumbfounded expression plastered on her otherwise stony face. Her eyes bored holes into his skull, and he could almost feel her mind searching his. He concentrated all his thoughts on him being her brother, and she bought it. She gave him a quick nod, and moved to stand beside him.  
  
"Later," she muttered. Then she took up a fighting stance. "Well, boys, what'll it be? You want a good time; I'll SHOW you a good time. It involves me and my... brother... double-teaming your asses."  
  
Bryan took up his own stance, and waited. These guys were drunk, and cared nothing about them. "Let's get 'em, dudes! Dibs on the chick!" came the slurred battlecry from the thug leader, then they attacked.  
  
Big mistake. The leader charged straight for Angel, and was met by a swift uppercut to the jaw, followed by a spinning kick to the ribs. He went down quickly, and in his place popped another thug, this one with a knife. She grabbed his free hand, kicked him TWICE in the head with the same foot, and sent him spinning away in pain. A third was given swift chops to the throat, followed by a hard gut punch. He fell with a clearly audible grunt.  
  
In the back of his mind, Bryan realized that he'd seen this particular fighting style before, but where... he'd think about it later. Right now, he was busy giving a Muay Thai kick to some poor boy's arm. The arm shattered, as well as a few ribs. One lucky kid charged from the side and managed to give Bryan a swift knife-slash to the arm. Bryan wrapped his other hand around the boy's throat and lifted him into the air while he examined his sleeve. Then his eyes snapped up to meet the kid's. "Motherfuck, you ruined my coat!" The boy's eyes widened as Bryan's fist hammered down into the kid's unprotected skull. The kid fell to the ground in a wimpering heap, and it was then that Bryan realized something: Not only had the kid ruined his jacket, but he'd also pissed himself, and dribbled on Bryan's shoes. Bryan frowned mightily before grabbing the sixth thug by the arm and kneeing him in the crotch. The kid shrieked and joined his friends laying on the ground in pain. The air was suddenly quiet.  
  
"Hmm," was Angel's comment. "Six morons in almost as many seconds. That's gotta be a new record or something."  
  
Bryan only grunted and examined his shoes. "Damn kid pissed on me." Angel gave an amused snort, then began walking back the way they'd come.  
  
They traveled in silence for a while, then Angel spoke up. "So, you're my long-lost brother or something, huh?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So, where'd you come from?" Bryan shrugged. "Then how'd you find me?" Another shrug. "Okay, then how about-"  
  
"Fuck, is it always gonna be Twenty Questions with you or something?" Bryan was getting annoyed.  
  
"Sorry. I just wanted to know something about the person who seems to be my only living relative in the entire world." Her tone instantly made him feel like a jackass. "Just one question, then?" Bryan nodded. Angel grinned briefly, then asked "Where the hell did you find those pants?"  
  
The question surprised him, and he glanced down at his fake-snakeskin pants. "What do you want? I like these pants."  
  
"Oh yes, very pimp."  
  
"And what about that coat of yours, little miss Psycho?"  
  
She glared at him. "It was on sale and I liked it. Besides, nobody messes with a chick in a trenchcoat." Bryan raised a disbelieving eyebrow and hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the now-distant pile of bodies. "Okay, almost nobody. I've run into them several times before, and they don't seem to remember that I kick their asses every time." She flexed her muscles. "I'm a one-woman gang!" Bryan smirked.   
  
"You're a one-woman something, that's for sure."  
  
She threw another glance at him. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Snake Eye?"  
  
Bryan stopped dead in his tracks. "What did you just call me?"  
  
Angel stopped, too. "Snake Eye. Why?"  
  
He swallowed. "That used to be my nickname, back when I was on the force."  
  
"Force? You're a cop?"  
  
"Ex-cop."  
  
"Ex, huh? What happened?"  
  
"THIS happened." Annoyed, Bryan pulled up his shirt to reveal--dear God. Four bullet-hole scars dotted his abdomen, and the knife scar twisted its way from his collarbone all the way down to his waist. He was white as a sheet all over.   
  
Angel swallowed and looked away. "Sorry I asked." Bryan merely grunted and started walking again. Angel looked after him for a moment, then caught up with him.  
  
They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they finally reached Jerry's Bar, Angel led Bryan to the tiny gray Honda on the back row of the parking lot. She pulled out a keyring, unlocked the door, and climbed in. Then she looked at her brother. "Are you coming, or what?"  
  
They stared at each other for the longest time, then Bryan seated himself next to Angel in the car.   
  
The ride was quiet, with neither one of them saying a single word. Bryan stared out the window, and thought. He'd resigned himself to his new fate. Here he was, playing brother-sister to a genetically-designed assassin. She tough as nails, and mean as hell. Not only was there that, but Abel's last words to him. I should be dead in a few months, thought Bryan. Then he corrected himself. I'll be dead AGAIN in a few months. This just keeps getting better and better.  
  
Angel listened to him think. She couldn't hear his exact thoughts; that would require more concentration than she was presently willing to give. She was driving, after all. She could feel her brother's pain. He had known a lot of suffering in the past. He still suffered. He was lost, and searching for himself. Searching for his place in the world.  
  
Angel vowed to help him find it. 


	6. Sibling Rivalry

*I had visions, I was in them  
I was looking into the mirror  
To see a little bit clearer  
The rottenness and evil in me  
  
Through fingertips and memories (?)  
I can't forget the curves of your body  
And when I feel a bit naughty  
I run it up the flagpole and see  
Who still looks, but no-one ever does  
  
I'm not sick, but  
I'm not well  
And I'm so hot  
Cause I'm in hell*  
  
*Harvey Danger - Flagpole Sitta*  
  
Upon arriving home, Angel led Bryan to the house and unlocked the door. Instantly that gigantic dog came barreling toward them, and Angel knelt down to give the joyous canine a hug and a scratch. When she stood, the dog fixed Bryan with a glare, but didn't growl. Angel seemed amused. "I see you've already met Takeru."  
  
Bryan's eyes never left the dog. "How would you know that?"  
  
Her eyes twinkled. "He's not growling at you. He has a good memory. If I tell him you're my friend, then he'll tolerate you. He only understands Japanese commands, though."  
  
"Gee, thanks," he muttered.  
  
"Tenshiii!!!" The nasal voice rang out. Bryan winced at the tone. Angel clapped her hands to her ears, while Takeru flattened his and whined softly. The tone itself was comparable to nails on a chalkboard, or screeching metal. It actually HURT to listen to it.  
  
The short Japanese man called Kenji came storming out of the living room. "Tenshi! Where is my dinner? You are late!" He seemed to take no notice of Bryan.  
  
Angel's good mood disappeared instantly. "Why didn't you make your own dinner?"  
  
"That is your job!"  
  
"Not tonight. Fix a microwave dinner or something. I don't feel like cooking."  
  
Kenji stamped one foot irritably. "I told you to fix my dinner! Stupid girl!"  
  
Big mistake. Angel narrowed her eyes, and fixed him with an intense glare. "And I told you to make your own food. It's nine o'clock, for Christ's sake. Surely you can operate a microwave, Mr. Computer Repairman."  
  
Kenji returned the glare, but it was nowhere near as intense as hers. "I say obey me! Fix my dinner!"  
  
Bryan stepped in. "Hey, jackass, she said she's tired. Order a damn pizza or something."  
  
Angel gave her brother a surprised look. "Why, thank you, Bryan. That was the nicest thing that's happened to me all day. Just for that, I'll warm up some leftover casserole for you or something."  
  
"And what about me?" Kenji whined.  
  
Angel stared intently at him, and Kenji shrank back involuntarily. "Nothing for you, asswipe."  
  
Kenji's voice became a gargle of pure rage as Takeru and Bryan followed Angel into the kitchen. Angel filled the dog's dry feed and water dishes before browsing through the refrigerator. "What'll it be, lasagna or beef stew?" Her comment was directed at Bryan, who had seated himself at the kitchen table.  
  
"Both, if you don't mind. I'm fucking starved."  
  
"No problem."  
  
Twenty minutes later, they were both seated at the table. Angel was halfway through her second portion of lasagna, but was observing with speechless awe as Bryan scraped the last of the cheesy Italian goodness out of the pan. The beef stew had already been completely cleaned out. When he was finished, he looked pointedly at her still-unfinished portion. "You gonna eat that?"  
  
"My God! How many stomachs do you have?"  
  
"Hey, I told you I was hungry. Got any more?"  
  
"Not tonight. I'll go shopping tomorrow, though."  
  
He looked disappointed. Then, "Do you have any beer around here?"  
  
Her voice took on an amused note. "No. I'm underage, you remember, and Kenji doesn't drink." The amusement turned to bitterness. "I'd almost prefer a drunken foster father to him."  
  
"So, why do you put up with him anyway? I mean, I'd have killed him a long time ago," he said offhandedly.  
  
"Much as I'd like to kill him, I can't." Her tone was idle, almost bored, but her face told him that she'd like nothing better than to play out that scenario.  
  
"Why not?" He pushed his plates aside, and rested his chin on one balled-up fist. She gave him an odd look.  
  
"Because I'd be the only suspect. There's nobody for me to pin it on, and there's only one person that I know, besides you, that might alibi for me. But he's not a liar. So, if Kenji dies, I would go to jail until I was thirty-something, at least. Not something I want to do."  
  
Bryan smirked. "Jail doesn't bother me."  
  
Angel looked up. "Is that because you used to be a cop, or something?"  
  
The smirk disappeared. "Yeah, it is."  
  
"I was wanting to ask you about that. Seeing as you remember your past, and I don't, I was hoping you'd tell me a bit about yourself." It was her turn to push her plate aside, and she folded her arms on the table. She took a light reading of him, and his mind was filled with bitterness and regret. He really didn't want to talk about it. Almost like he was hiding something.  
  
Bryan hesitated. "Like I already said, my memory's a bit foggy about my first years. I remember signing up for the police academy, after high school. Did real good, too. Top of my class. Joined the force as soon as I graduated. Didn't have a partner until about two and a half years ago, and that was after I joined up with Interpol."  
  
"Interpol. You mean the International Police Force?"  
  
"Yep. I was an undercover detective for two years. Busted some pretty big drug dealers, too."  
  
"Sweet! I think I might do that, when I get out of high school. It sounds fun."  
  
"Do what? Be a cop?" Bryan was dubious.  
  
"Yeah. Either that or the military. I could be an Army Ranger, or a Navy SEAL. Those guys are the best of the best. And so am I, at everything I've ever done."  
  
Bryan decided to throw in a little brotherly humor. "The pay is shit. I knew gas station owners that made more money than I did."  
  
"It's not about the money. It's about being able to legally use the skills I have. Keyword being 'legally.'"  
  
"And what exactly would those skills be?"  
  
She gave him an odd look, and leaned back in her chair. "I can kick your ass, that's one thing. I know a lot about hand-to-hand combat with any kind of weapon. I'm pretty good with guns, too. Kenji has actually done something useful, and taught me a shitload of stuff about computers. I've hacked the school's system at least five times." She grinned.  
  
Bryan digested this fact. "That's illegal, you know."  
  
She smirked. "I know. So arrest me, then."  
  
He sneered at her, but didn't reply. Her eyes twinkled as she stood, and began gathering dishes to start washing them. As she washed, she asked him another question. "Did you enjoy being a cop, then?"  
  
He had to think a moment before answering. "Yeah, I guess I did. The pay was shit, as I already told you. My apartment was probably smaller than this kitchen. And this is a big kitchen." He looked at her, and smirked. "It was my sworn duty to bring order and justice to the community," he intoned, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "There was a lot of politics involved, though. I wasn't allowed to hit people once I'd cuffed them. So, I always made it a point to beat them into submission BEFORE I cuffed them."  
  
Angel had to smile at this. "See? Sounds like fun."  
  
His thin mouthed stretched into a tight smile. "It is fun, until you find out that the person you're chasing happens to have a knife or a gun." He pointed to the ever-present scar on his face.   
  
"Is that why you quit? You were tired of getting cut and shot at?" Angel's face was a mask of seriousness.  
  
Bryan, however, gave a short, dry laugh. "Yeah, that's exactly why I quit. Near-death experiences aren't exactly my idea of fun."  
  
She was quiet for a moment. Then, she asked the burning question. "How did you survive getting shot like that?"  
  
Bryan's face instantly became a stony mask. He almost said that he HADN'T survived, but stopped just in time. What could he tell her? She would know if he lied, but he couldn't exactly tell her the truth, either.  
  
A heavy silence descended. "I didn't survive. I mean, obviously my body got me through it, but..." he trailed off, and looked at the enraptured Angel. "I was dead inside. After I got shot, I stopped feeling things."  
  
"What do you mean?" Angel's voice was quiet.  
  
"I stopped feeling. Some of my memories got wiped, for some reason. Most of all, I realized that I stopped feeling emotions. I can't remember the last time I was happy, or sad." His voice was low, and gravelly. "I just... stopped."  
  
Angel was silent, and Bryan noticed that her eyes were unusually bright and glittery. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It was none of my business."  
  
"You're damn right it was none of your business. I tried really hard to forget that. I don't even know why I told you. Must be those beers I had at the bar."  
  
He stood, and towered over her. They stared at each other for a moment. "Gimme your car keys."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I wanna go get some beer."  
  
"Bryan... I said I was sorry."  
  
"Sorry doesn't cut it!" he snapped.  
  
Another heavy silence. Then, Angel reached into her pocket and gave him the keys to her car. Go right when you get to the end of the road. Hang a left at the second light. There's an all-night convenience store." Her voice was just as bitter as his.  
  
He grabbed the keys and walked out the door, leaving Angel alone at the kitchen table. For a moment she sat there, tears brimming in her eyes when a cold, wet dog nose thrust itself at her bare arm. She yelped involuntarily, then glanced down at her adoring pet. Takeru rested his massive head in her lap and looked up at her with his adoring, pleading liquid brown eyes. Angel sighed, and started scratching behind his ears. The dog closed his eyes in bliss. "You always know how to cheer me up, dog," she said quietly, a slow grin spreading across her face. The dog regarded her for a moment, then closed his eyes again and leaned into her obliging hand.  
  
Talking to her dog was one of the few things that cheered Angel up. She had gotten the dog as a puppy, two years ago. The year she arrived in America from Japan, an event she barely remembered. Kenji almost hadn't gotten the dog, but once she'd convinced him that the typical American family had a dog, Kenji had nearly gotten a speeding ticket driving to the nearest pet store.  
  
That was the key to getting around Kenji's controlling impulses. Convince him that the typical American family had this or that, and she would have it, to an extent. He still treated her like a slave, but at least she had a car and an allowance. She also had a REALLY nice computer, one that Kenji himself had built for her. The only nice thing he'd ever done for her, besides teach her to become a master computer hacker.   
  
She hadn't been lying to Bryan when she'd said that she'd hacked the school's system at least five times. She carried a little CD booklet inside one of the many pockets of her trenchcoat, with such self-made CDs as PortJammer, PassThief, etc. Hacking programs, ones she'd written herself. The librarian was pulling out chunks of her hair trying to figure out how every computer in the school was simultaneously uploaded with a new screensaver every week. Angel enjoyed the spectacle immensely.  
  
Takeru's cold nose broke through her thoughts again, to remind her that she'd stopped scratching him. She sighed, grinned, and resumed her duties. The dog re-entered his state of bliss. "You big baby," she crooned. "That's all you are, just a big baby." The baby didn't answer.  
  
Ten minutes later, the sound of the squeaky brakes on Angel's Honda reached the sensitive ears of girl and dog. Then she looked at her canine companion. "Looks like I beat you again, Takeru," she said with a grin. The dog flattened his ears, and Angel's smile grew wide. She would swear that the dog was insulted that she could hear and smell almost as well as he could. More stuff she could do that no other human being on the planet could do. Thus, more questions.  
  
They sat in the kitchen for a moment, then Angel rose to stand in the doorway, with Takeru beside her. They watched Bryan shuffle his way across the hardwood floor and into the living room. He was carrying two 12-packs of Budweiser. One was already open, with one bottle gone. The missing bottle was out in Angel's car, something she'd find in the morning.  
  
For now, Bryan sat in the semidarkness of the living room, the only motion being his arm making regular trips to his mouth with a bottle of beer. Angel could see him perfectly through her night vision. She could see perfectly in the dark, with everything appearing to her as though it had been lit by a green sun. If she could have seen her eyes at the moment, she would have been shocked to see that the irises were a bright green color.  
  
Uncertainly, Angel's mind pressed lightly at the edges of his. It was hazy as the alcohol began its work, but Angel found her way to his emotions. Intense pain, despair, sorrow, and bitterness competed for dominance in the forefront of his mind. It hit Angel all at once, like a ton of bricks, and she nearly collapsed. She withdrew, and calmed herself.  
  
After a while, Angel moved into the living room and curled up in an easy chair. Bryan slumped on the loveseat in front of the TV. He ignored her, and flipped the TV on. They had 99 channels, and he browsed for a moment before turning his head to look at her. "What do you want?" The words were slurred and harsh, and Angel flinched at the raspy sound.  
  
"I wanted to say that I'm sorry," Angel said quietly. Bryan regarded her for a moment, then tossed the now-empty beer bottle at his feet and reached for a third. "Bryan... please stop that."  
  
"Why should I?" He looked at her with the all-too-familiar gaze of a drunk trying to hang on to reality. She'd seen that look often at Jerry's.  
  
"Because I feel responsible. I had no right to pry into your past." She paused, her voice breaking. "I just don't want to see you burn away your life like this."  
  
"Why do you care?" Again with the harsh tone. It grated against her ears as hard as it did her mind, and she nearly broke down right then.  
  
Then Angel got an inspiration, one coming from a long history of dealing with drunks at Jerry's. She pretended to be annoyed at him, almost angry. "I don't know, Bryan. Maybe I shouldn't care. Maybe I should just let you drink yourself to death." She waited with held breath.  
  
Bryan stared at her for a moment, and she could feel the anger welling up in his mind. Then it was replaced by another emotion, one that she'd felt often in the minds of others, but never in herself: defeat.  
  
Nothing more was said that night. Angel watched Bryan go through 99 channels and two more beers before heading upstairs with Takeru in tow. The dog curled up on the end of her bed and was dozing off even as Angel slipped into a nightshirt.  
  
"It's all my fault, Takeru," she said sadly as she slipped between the chilly covers. "I just wanted to know... me and my big mouth. I never should have said a word."  
  
Even as she fell asleep, she could feel the tired, bitter mind of the drunken man downstairs. The man that was her brother. He'd come into her life not an hour and a half ago, and it already seemed as though she'd lost him.  
  
It was all her fault. 


	7. Rebellion

*Push me again  
This is the end  
  
(One) Nothing wrong with me  
(Two) Nothing wrong with me  
(Three) Nothing wrong with me  
(Four) Nothing wrong with me  
  
(One) Something's got to give  
(Two) Something's got to give  
(Three) Something's got to give  
Now  
  
Let the bodies hit the floor  
Let the bodies hit the floor  
Let the bodies hit the floor  
  
Skin to skin, blood and bone (?)  
You're all by yourself, but you're not alone  
You wanted in and now you're here  
Driven by hate, consumed by fear*  
  
*Drowning Pool - Bodies (Album Version)*  
Two months later...  
  
Angel came home in a foul mood. She had narrowly avoided cracking a few skulls today, and she was sure that the phone would ring any minute. Kenji would listen, hang up, then tell her yet again what a useless, disobedient outcast she was. And then he would demand that she fix his dinner. Freak or not, she was still a human being, dammit, and she was more than tired of being Kenji's lifelong maid/cook.  
  
The TV was on in the living room. In what Angel now regarded as a permanent fixture in that room, her brother sat slouched on the loveseat with a beer in one hand and the remote control in the other. She could hear Kenji in his workroom, tapping furiously on the computer keyboards and muttering loudly to himself in Japanese. Then Takeru came bounding joyously toward her, tail wagging and tongue flopping in excitement. She gave the gigantic dog a hug, and scratched his favorite spot between the ears. A yip and a doggie grin was her only thanks. Story of my life, Angel thought.  
  
"Tenshiii!!" came the angry squeal from Kenji's office. She really hated his voice. When he was nervous or angry, his nasal tone had just that pitch that grated painfully on the eardrums of the sensitive. It looked like the call had come earlier than she'd expected.  
  
She drew herself to her full height and ran her fingers absently through her gleaming silver hair. Kenji came barreling out of his office, a stormcloud almost visible above his head. Through her increased sensitivity, Angel could feel the air vibrating between them, like standing next to the subwoofers in a movie theater.  
  
"Tenshi, you worthless, disobedient child! You caused another fight at school today! You dishonor me!" Kenji said in his whining tone. Takeru flattened his ears and whined, and Angel gave him a sympathetic pat on the head as she faced her guardian.  
  
"You dishonor yourself by breathing," Angel snapped. "I can't help it if the Breakers have it in for me." The Green Breakers were a large, obnoxious gang that dominated most of the downtown area. They had tried more than once to beat her into submission. Each attempt had had disasterous results. The latest attack had ended with Derrick, the Breaker leader, earning himself a broken nose and a pair of cracked ribs. The two boys with him had suffered extreme whiplash and broken wrists, respectively. One would think that they would have learned by now that Angel could not be beaten in a fight. Unfortunately for them, the Breakers were slow learners.  
  
"I do not care! You must not start fights! You must come home and do as you are told! I say so!" Kenji insisted, his nasal whine taking up an air of importance. He was a control freak, through and through, and had been that way her entire life. He insisted on dominating every aspect of her life, and she was now at a breaking point. The first thing she would break would be Kenji's neck.  
  
"Screw you! I'm not cooking for your lazy ass any more! I got a job today, and I will not spend another evening of my life cooking for you!" Angel's temper was being stretched VERY thin. Kenji, however, was not one with the ability to read people.  
  
"You must have no job! You already have job: To cook for me and clean my house! I am your father, and you will do as you are told!"  
  
"Bite me, asshole. My days of being your slave are over. And you're NOT my father! No father, foster or otherwise, would ever treat a child like this! You're a goddamn control freak, and I've had it with you!"  
  
"Who you call freak? YOU are freak, with your wrong eyes and wrong hair! You should appreciate that I took you in when no-one else would! How dare you speak to me in that manner!"  
  
"I have a job, and I will keep the job. You're just gonna have to cook and clean for yourself. At least I'll get paid for it at Jerry's."  
  
"You got a job at a BAR?!" Kenji was ALMOST speechless. He did not find this situation to be the least bit palatable. He must control her! He must!  
  
At the mention of a bar, Bryan tore his gaze from the TV. "Hey, superkid! You get discounts?" Angel gave him a frosty nod before turning back to Kenji. "Finally, somebody in this fucking household with a REAL job," Bryan muttered, returning to the TV.  
  
"There is no real job! You must obey me! Tenshi, you will turn the job down, and continue to work in this household!" Kenji stamped a little foot, and Angel almost laughed. He was at least a foot shorter than her, and spent all his days fixing computers. He would be no challenge at all.  
  
Like swatting a fly, Angel thought. "I'm taking that job, asswipe, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."  
  
Kenji went pale. "No. You must stay. I... have spoken. You must... not... I cannot lose..." His voice had taken a new note, one Angel hadn't heard in a while. It was a tone of panic, of desperation. He was losing control of Angel, he had lost it a long time ago. He was beginning to sweat heavily. "You... you must not go. I say so."  
  
Kenji's tone once again brought Bryan back to reality. Damn, he's losing it, he thought. The little Japanese man was finally losing it. He muted the TV. This could get interesting.  
  
In a moment of desperation, as Angel began to walk out the door, Kenji gave a little yell and ran to block the doorway. He couldn't lose control! The girl must be controlled, or they would kill him! He must control her!  
  
Angel glared at him, and Kenji almost lost it right there. Those on the recieving end of one of Angel's glares usually didn't last very long. In one slow-motion move, Angel backhanded Kenji in the face. The little Japanese flew through the air and smashed against the doorframe.  
  
"Bryan, stop her!" Kenji's tone was now a full-blown screech, and Angel covered her ears instinctively. Thus referred to, Bryan raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn't move. Kenji screamed, and raced toward Bryan while whipping something out of the pocket of his housecoat. It was a small black something, and before he could identify it, it was pressed against Bryan's bare arm.  
  
Instantly, pain shot through Bryan's entire body. A tazer! A fucking tazer! The pain was incredible, and Bryan let out a long, tortured scream that all but froze the blood in Angel's veins. Damn! It was like every single nerve in his body was on fire!  
  
Kenji withdrew the tazer. "Bryan, stop her! I must regain control!" Kenji had completely lost it, but he still had that damn tazer. After a moment, Bryan raised himself off the couch and deftly interposed himself between Angel and the doorway.  
  
"Fly or fry, wino," Angel growled, "but I'm going through that door." Bryan crossed his arms and looked threatening, but Angel could still sense the pain coursing through his body. There was also an odd smell, like melted plastic, but Angel didn't have time to dwell on it. "Out of my way, you worthless drunk. I have to go to work now, and earn some money, unlike some people."  
  
"Barmaids don't earn much, you know," Bryan said almost offhandedly. "Besides, you're not old enough to sell beer, anyway."  
  
Angel's temper finally broke. "At least it's a job. At least I'm gonna go earn some money and start supporting myself. At least I don't sit at home all day, in a drunken stupor, trying to forget a past that I don't even remember!"  
  
Bryan's features tightened for a second, and his unblinking steel-blue eyes fixed intently on her lavendar ones. "You have no fucking idea what you're talking about."  
  
"Then enlighten me."  
  
Bryan hesitated, and threw a look at the still-ranting Kenji. The Japanese raised the tazer threateningly, and Bryan turned his gaze back to his sister. "Listen to me, superkid. You ain't going nowhere. I'm not above hitting girls, you know."  
  
"Good. Neither am I."  
  
What a smartass. Bryan sighed and took up a fighting stance. "Come get some, then."  
  
Angel was already moving, coming at him like a silver-haired torpedo. Bryan timed his attack, and swiftly threw a left hook. He hit nothing but air as the platinum-haired whirlwind hit him in a full shoulder tackle. They both flew through the door, tumbled down the porch steps, and landed Bryan-down on the front lawn. Angel lept quickly to her feet and took a fighting stance. Bryan was a bit slower getting up, but nontheless took up his own stance. There was a moment's pause, and then Angel attacked.  
  
Bryan had once been a tough figher. He had beaten some of the greatest fighters in the world, and in any other lifetime Angel would have been honored to meet him. However, two months of heavy drinking had somewhat dulled his reflexes.  
  
The first hit was a swift kick to the knee, enough to throw him off balance. She then ducked, almost right under him, before raising herself up for a powerful jumping right-uppercut to the jaw. By the time he recovered, she was coming again. Six swift hits to the exact same place to the gut, too fast for the eye to follow. His newly-aquired beer-belly was taking a serious beating, and he began to retreat.  
  
Not fast enough. Angel was truly pissed off now, and she was taking out her aggression on anything in her path. She rushed in for a powerful right hook to the cheekbone, and she both heard and felt his jaw pop out of place. To add insult to injury, she leapt in the air for a spinning kick that left a foot-shaped bruise in his chest for weeks to come. The force propelled him backward, and he slammed into one of the support beams for the porch with a loud grunt before falling to his knees.  
  
After staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity, Bryan reached up to grab his jaw with both hands and yanked it swiftly to the right. It popped loudly into place, and Angel winced before fixing him with a harsh stare. "You finished?" She asked haughtily.  
  
Bryan was speechless. She'd handed him his ass on a silver platter, and she hadn't even broken a sweat. He was breathing heavily, and he quickly raised his hands in surrender. He hadn't landed a single hit. She smiled almost sweetly at him, and began walking towards her car.  
  
Kenji snapped. "Nooo!!" He screeched, and rushed the defenseless Bryan. "Failure!" he shouted, and buried the tazer in the back of Bryan's neck. Bryan screamed again, and he felt himself blacking out from the pain. It was as though his entire body was on fire. Damn, he'd never felt a hurt like that before! Then there was a loud thud, and Kenji went flying yet again as Angel nailed him with a full-on tackle. She grabbed the tazer and threw it to the ground hard, where it shattered. Her gaze flew back to Bryan, who was writhing pitifully on the ground in agony. Once again, the air was thick with the smell of melted plastic.  
  
"Bastard!" She yelled. She reached Kenji and picked him up by the throat with one hand. In a swift, fluid motion, she flung him at a support beam on the porch. He struck hard, and crumpled silently to the ground in a heap. He was still alive, she knew. She could still feel his life-force. Once again she turned back toward her brother, who had subsided a bit.  
  
She called his name softly, and he didn't respond. She lifted him in a fireman's carry and brought him into the house. She took him all the way to his room before depositing the unconscious form on the bed and covering him with a light blanket. She gazed at him silently for a moment, then turn and left. She spat on Kenji's still-unmoving form as she climbed into her car, and headed for Jerry's. 


	8. The Next Stage

*There's another world inside of me  
That you may never see  
There's secrets in this life that I can't hide  
  
Somewhere in this darkness there's  
A light that I can't find  
Or maybe it's to far away  
  
Or maybe I'm just blind*  
  
*3 Doors Down - When I'm Gone*  
  
Jerry Lewis had been Angel's only friend for the past two years. Angel had come into his bar one day, two years ago, to order a Diet Coke and watch a football game. Although he was not the slightest bit empathic, like she was, he could still feel her pain. He began talking to her during her visits, and she was soon a regular at the bar.  
  
She was reluctant to talk at first. She was the only foster child to a person whom she made out to be a controlling monster of a person, whom she hated greatly. She was an extreme loner, and said little else than that. After a while, she began to talk back to him, answer his questions and ask him about himself. He was in his late thirties, with a beautiful wife, Karen, and two young children. He wasn't in the best of physical fitness, but he was by no means fat. Brown hair, slicked back, and clean-shaven except for a small goatee. The picturesque bartender.  
  
Jerry didn't think Angel was in any kind of trouble or anything like that, just a kid with a crappy home life and a non-existant social life. Albinos were rare in these parts, but then, bars took all kinds, and he made it a point to make her feel welcome at the bar. In return, Angel became something of a volunteer bouncer, and the heavy drinkers quickly learned to fear the platinum-haired girl, especially when she was in a bad mood.  
  
Few people, however, realized how deep their friendship was. One night, about a month after Angel started coming into the bar, Jerry saw Angel grab a steak knife off one of the tables and walk out of the bar. His instincts told him to follow her, and he did. He found her leaning against the back of his bar, the knife inches from her wrist. They had regarded each other for a moment, then Jerry asked her one thing: "Are you sure it's worth it?" Angel stared at him for the longest time, and Jerry could have sworn that she was searching his very soul. After what seemed like an eternity, Angel silently handed Jerry the knife, and followed him back into the bar. They had been close friends ever since.  
  
There were a lot of gangs in their little town, and Jerry's Bar was right smack on the border of two of the largest, the River Street Tigers and the Green Breakers. Gangfights were frequent, with both gangs fighting over this particular spot. Then after one night, the gangs stopped harassing the customers. Jerry had yet to see either gang fight over his bar after that day. A hunch told him to ask Angel, and she was quick to point out that Jerry's Bar, the parking lot, and all the blocks adjacent to it were now under her control. It was her turf, and she'd proved to both gangs that she was more than capable of taking on several people at once. The Tigers came in for drinks every now and then, but they were always incredibly polite to Angel and Jerry. They were quick to apologize for anything they did wrong, and even helped Angel every now and then to fight the Breakers. The Breakers were less than happy to have 'their bar' taken from then, and it became something of a ritual for them to attack Angel at least once a week. She beat entire groups without getting hurt. They swore revenge every time they were defeated, but they had yet to make good on their threats.  
  
It was now only a few days before her eighteenth birthday. She'd had an under-the-table bouncer-job at the bar for months now, and he planned to make her an official waitress/bartender as soon as she hit eighteen. It was an opportunity for which Angel was forever grateful, as it gave her an opportunity to get out of the hellhole that was her home.  
  
Angel thought about all these things on the drive to Jerry's Bar. She pulled into her customary spot on the front row, the spot that all the customers took careful consideration into leaving open for her. A happy Angel was a nonviolent Angel, most of the time. She opened the door and walked straight to the bar, waving and answering the greetings thrown her way from the various patrons. The bar was mostly empty, just like that one night, two months ago, when her brother had come into her life, then screwed his own life straight down the drain. It was something Angel still hadn't forgiven herself for.  
  
There were a couple of Tigers at the bar, easily distinguished by the yellow bandannas around both biceps. They saw her and quickly raised their hands in peace. She accepted the truce, and ignored them. The moment they caused any trouble, however, they would be out on the street before they could blink, and they knew it. Thus, they were endlessly polite. Jerry noticed her, and gave her a hearty wave. She smiled and returned it, then went back to a chat with a customer.  
  
Angel made her way to the back rooms of the bar, and quickly slipped an apron over her gray longsleeve shirt and blue jeans. The black duster was hung on a hook on the wall. Filling the apron pockets with the notepad and pen that was standard waitress equipment, she walked back out into the bar, walking the tables and taking orders.  
  
After about an hour, Jerry called Angel back into the storeroom in the back of the bar, where he faced her squarely and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Angel, I'm going out of town for the next few days, with Karen and the kids. I need to ask you a big favor, and close the bar for the next couple of nights, until I get back. Okay?"  
  
Angel nodded smartly, and took the key that Jerry offered her. "Now," he continued, "I've hired another couple of waitresses during the daytime hours, but they know that you're in charge the minute you get here. I know that on a good day, the bar will almost run itself, but there might not be any good days while I'm gone. Understand?"  
  
Angel nodded again, and pocketed the key. "So, where are you going?"   
  
"Just upstate, to visit Karen's mother. She's not doing too well, something about a nasty virus she can't kick. I know that's the last place the kids need to be, but Karen thinks this could turn really ugly, and she wants the kids to visit their grandmother again, in case..." he trailed off uncertainly.  
  
"I completely understand, Jerry," Angel said smoothly. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of your third child." At her friend's baffled look, Angel grinned and patted the wall of the Bar. Jerry understood, and laughed.  
  
"I knew I could count on you, Angel. Oh, that reminds me." He fished around in his deep jeans pockets for a moment, and produced a small envelope. "It pains me to death that I'll miss your birthday, so I want to give you this."  
  
Angel took the envelope, and read the somewhat funny greeting card inside. There was $10, as well as a note: Look in your coat pocket.  
  
A mystified look came over her, and she glanced at her friend uncertainly. He merely grinned and nodded toward the trenchcoat hanging on the wall.  
  
Inside the deepest pocket of her coat was a long, slender box. She withdrew it, and found a leather sheath containing... "Holy shit!" It was a knife, and not just any knife. It was a kunai, a long combat knife, with a wicked curve on the end. It looked like something out of a movie, but Angel knew that it was very, very real. She turned back to Jerry, her face a mask of shock.  
  
His face split into what he called a banana smile, a grin that went from ear to ear. "It's for your collection," he told her gleefully, referring to the knife collection Angel had at home.  
  
"Where the hell did you find this?!"  
  
"I have an old buddy that works at the army surplus store on the other side of town. I told him about you, and he said you'd probably like that. Gave me a discount, too." His eyes twinkled with his inner merriment.  
  
Angel stood, dumbfounded, for a full five seconds before leaping forward and giving her friend a crushing bearhug. He returned it happily. "Glad you like it, Angel. Now get back out there, before the drunks stage a riot." They were both grinning like idiots as they returned to the bar, Angel having stored the knife safely in her coat.  
  
The night passed quickly for all involved, and the Bar was closing before they knew it. Angel wiped a bar towel over the tables, and prodded the few unconscious drunks still napping at the bar. A few refused to leave, and were quickly given the business end of Angel's boot.  
  
After bidding farewell to Jerry, Angel strapped the knife to her thigh, and donned her trenchcoat. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she walked into the cool night air, patrolling her territory as was her habit. It gave her time to think, before heading home. Thus, she patrolled the outer fringes of her turf, hands in her pockets and her head bowed, deep in thought.  
  
Kenji had acted really weird today. He had yelled something about losing control of her. That was odd. He'd never had control of her, but he could never admit it. The last thing on his mind, before slipping into unconsciousness, was an overwhelming feeling of paranoia and fear of death. From what she could gather, his continued breathing was dependent on his control of her. If he lost that control, someone would kill him. But who? She was sure she knew. She quit thinking about that particular line of thought when her headache came on, full force. She always got a headache when she tried to remember her past.  
  
Okay, so enough about the mystery people. The real question was: why did she still put up with Kenji? He was an uptight, arrogant asshole. He was a control freak. And God, she hated his voice. He treated her like a slave, and nothing she did was ever good enough for him. Sometimes she wished that Jerry hadn't stopped her from committing suicide. At least then she wouldn't have to listen to Kenji anymore. She would like nothing more than to kill Kenji Takahashi, but she'd already told Bryan why: there was nobody to pin it on but her. The cops knew her. They knew that she was the best damn martial artist in the city, if not the entire county. she'd had several run-ins with the police, and each time, had it not been for eyewitnesses supporting her pleas of self-defense, she'd surely be in a Juvenile Detention Center somewhere. The cops knew her, all right, and they watched her. Eyewitnesses were her only means of freedom nowadays, so she always made sure to kick ass in well-populated areas. It was really annoying to run three or four blocks and THEN turn around to beat the living daylights out of them in front of innocent bystanders.  
  
That night, two months ago, when she first met her brother... it was the first time anyone had ever fought alongside her, instead of against her. It was the first time that anyone had stuck up for her. It was the first time that someone actually gave a flying fuck as to how she felt. Yet something bothered her. She'd felt his mind occasionally as he slept. She never dug into his personal life, and she made extra sure to stay the hell out of his sex memories. However, she couldn't find any memories of a little sister. Anywhere. He had an older brother, but no sisters. So, why did he say he was her brother?  
  
Oh well. She would be eighteen in a few days. In another few months, she would have graduated high school... and then what? College? The military? Who the hell knew? One thing was for sure, and that was that Angel wanted to know who she was, and where she came from, before she made any decisions like that.  
  
Suddenly her mind screamed a warning to her. Her finely-tuned "proximity alert" in her mind told her that there were hostile life-forces nearby. Five of them, and closing fast. She took a look around her, and realized that she'd walked straight into Breaker territory without even realizing it. And there were no eyewitnesses anywhere. She spun on her heel and began walking swiftly back the way she'd come.  
  
Too late. She halted at the sight of a figure leaning under a streetlight. It was Derrick, the Breaker leader, doing his best Dick Tracy imitation as he balanced himself and attempted to look down at her. Attempted, and failed, because she was at least three inches taller than he was. "Angel, old buddy, old pal. Fancy meeting you here, in the middle of our turf, with nobody around. That little victory of yours today made you cocky."  
  
The lamplight threw ominous shadows on his face, like he'd hoped. It also clearly outlined the crooked, swollen mass on his face. "Hey, Derrick. Nice nose job you got there," Angel said smoothly, admiring her handiwork.  
  
Derrick frowned. "Listen, you little bitch. I'm sick and tired of you and your little ninja bullshit. You're gonna regret what you did today. Me and the boys are gonna rape you till you start shitting blood!"  
  
Angel was unimpressed. "Don't you get tired of saying the same things over and over again? That's, what, the fifth time you've used that line? It's gotten pretty old." She crossed her arms and looked bored.  
  
Derrick's face contorted with rage. "You bitch! I'll kill you!" Together with his loyal thugs, five bodies armed with knives came flying at Angel all at once.  
  
Two minutes later, Angel was once again strolling down the street with her head bowed in thought and her hands in her pockets. Behind her lay the mangled heap of Breaker bodes. They were all alive, of course. She'd hurt each one just enough to knock them out of the fight. She'd taken extra care, however, to re-break Derrick's nose. She grinned with the thought of what it'd look like tomorrow. And she hadn't even drawn the knife.  
  
It was with a large grin on her face as she drove home. She kept the windows firmly shut as she sang along at the top of her lungs with her favorite J-pop songs. Hell, she spoke the language fluently. She wasn't that bad of a singer, either, but anyone who happened to hear her would immediately get their fingers broken.  
  
She noticed three things the moment she got home: the TV was off in the living room, the basement door was open, and Kenji's broken mass was gone off the front lawn. There was a rhythmic pounding noise coming from the basement, so she went down there.  
  
The basement was Angel's private dojo. The plaster walls were scattered with mirrors of various shapes and sizes. Worn mats covered the floor. A weightbench and chin-up bar, as well as a few barbells, lay in one corner of the room.  
  
The center of the room was occupied by a large, worn Muay Thai bag hanging from the ceiling. The pounding noise was coming from it as Bryan's fists beat it unmercifully. He was shirtless, and covered with sweat, and every now and then he would glance at a shelf on the wall that Angel had labeled "What's My Motivation?". On the shelf was a large picture of Kenji with some very nasty words written on it in several different languages. Also on the shelf, an addition made by Bryan, was an unopened bottle of beer. Every time he glanced at the shelf, he growled something to himself and hit the bag even harder.  
  
Angel understood. She'd kicked his ass today, and he blamed the alcohol. She felt a twinge of pity as that defeat played again and again across the forefront of his mind. So here he was, training once again.  
  
Suddenly he stopped punching, and his eyes flew to the corner where Angel stood silently in the shadows. Knowing herself revealed, she stepped into the light. "How long have you been standing there?" he growled, his breathing labored and his fists chambered at his sides.  
  
"Not long," she told him. "That's Muay Thai, right? There's a dojo about an hour's drive from here, but they won't admit me because I'm a girl."  
  
Bryan said nothing. With her watching, he expertly delivered a powerful roundhouse kick to the much-abused bag, which creaked loudly in protest. Angel watched him perform the kick a few more times, then stepped purposefully toward the bag. To Bryan's surprise, she mimicked him perfectly, and the bag swung to and fro from the force of the kick. For an hour straight, he taught her several Muay Thai punches, kicks, and a scant few throws. In return, she taught him a few moves from her vast repitoire (?) of punches, kicks, throws, holds, and blocks. It would be virtually impossible for an onlooker to identify the fighting style she used, he realized, because she used so damn many.  
  
They sparred for a bit, as well, and Bryan watched in amazement as Angel rushed forward for several pulled punches to the ribs before backing up out of range of his long arms. When he was off-balance, she reached in with a punch from an art she called Long Fist, then moved forward in a double chambered punch from Shotokan, a Kenpo sweep, and a flurry of Tae Kwon Do kicks to his head. All of them light as a feather, and all pulled off within the blink of an eye.  
  
He tired quickly, and made an off-color remark to himself about his physical condition. Angel objected. "I think you have the body of a god," she stated without so much as a blink.  
  
Bryan stared at her. "You think so?" he asked seriously, his male ego getting the best of him.  
  
"Yeah... Buddha." A wicked grin was plastered on her lips. They stared at each other for a full five seconds before Angel busted out laughing. She thought it was the best joke she'd ever made.  
  
Bryan could only stare in utter amazement. Then he glanced down at his bare abdominals. Hell, he wasn't THAT bad out of shape. A little bit of working out, and his six-pack should be back in no time. Angel was still howling with laughter, and Bryan allowed himself a thin smile. "Ha ha, there you go again with that funny shit, Angel."  
  
This only set her off again, and she had to lean against the punching bag for support. Bryan shook his head, and began kicking the bag that Angel happened to be leaning on. She backed off, and soon ceased laughing with an embarassing snort.  
  
She watched him for another minute, when she was startled by a loud noise. "What the hell was that?" she demanded. She cocked her head. "It sounded like a..."  
  
"A gunshot!" Ever the ex-cop, Bryan shot up the stairs like a rocket, with Angel following close behind. On the first floor of the house, Takeru was standing outside Kenji's bedroom door and whining. Bryan knocked the door down with a well-placed foot. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. "Sweet mother of..."  
  
Kenji lay on the floor, surrounded by a rapidly-expanding pool of blood. A small handgun was clutched in his right hand. At the sight of Angel, he immediately started screaming something at her in Japanese. Being completely ignorant in that department, Bryan turned to Angel for a translation. She shook her head. "He's out of his mind. He says something about control, and that I killed him." She stared hard at the sad figure on the floor a moment, then spat a Japanese expletive at him and walked out of the room.  
  
Bryan stared at the figure of Kenji for a long time. Long enough for Kenji to die. Angel headed for the living room and curled up in a chair and closed her eyes, with Takeru keeping a close eye on her. Bryan, on the other hand, waited until Kenji was good and dead before heading out into the telephone in the hall. He picked up the reciever, and dialed 911. "Yeah, I'm calling to report a suicide..." 


	9. Moving On

*It's not meant to hurt you,  
But let me assure you  
It's not what I said I  
Would take you to get (???)  
  
So when you hold onto  
The past and you  
Go and break down what little is left  
  
Yeah, if nothing more  
You can't ignore, and say  
It makes no difference to me*  
  
*Sum41 - Makes No Difference*  
  
Kenji was finally dead, the bastard.  
  
She'd hated him for as long as she could remember, and he was finally dead. Angel could hardly believe it. As overjoyed as she was, she was also profoundly disappointed, in that she hadn't gotten to pull the trigger herself. Oh well.  
  
She was sitting in the semidarkness of the living room. The ambulance was long gone, and Bryan was talking to the cops at the door. He'd wondered why cops had come to a suicide, but he later learned that it was because Angel already had a criminal record--all of those self-defense ass-beatings she had administered--and the local officials checked into anything that had to do with Angel purely out of habit.  
  
The cops, satisfied by Bryan's story that Angel was innocent, finally left, and Bryan shook his head as he joined Angel in the living room. She was staring into space, her eyes unfocused. He'd figured that she'd be jumping for joy, but she wasn't. No, she looked disturbed by something. Almost horrified.  
  
"That shocked?" he asked in complete amazement. "I thought you wanted him dead."  
  
His comment brought her out of her trance. "I AM glad that he's dead. There's a few things that are bothering me, though. A, I didn't get to pull the trigger myself. B, do we have to have a funeral?" She paused, and looked thoroughly disgusted. "And C, do I haved to cry at that godforsaken funeral?"  
  
Bryan stared at her. He hadn't thought about a funeral. Kenji's body certainly wasn't going to just go away. Then he had an idea. "Send his body back to Japan. I'm sure he has relatives there that want to bury him."  
  
"I'm sure you have the last part of that sentence correct, but there's a problem with that. I've never heard him speak of relatives of his. Ever." This stumped the both of them, and they sat on the living room loveseat for ten minutes before she stood. "I got it. I'll put a short obituary in the paper, but won't give the details of any funeral. If somebody calls, then I guess I'll have to have a funeral. If nobody calls, than I'll just cremate the bastard and pour his ashes on a pile of Takeru's shit or something."  
  
Bryan raised his eyebrows. "But what of somebody calls years later, a mother or something, and demands her son's ashes?"  
  
"Damn. I hadn't thought of that. And I really wanted to pour his ashes on something nasty, too. Oh well. I'll just box up the urn and put it in the attic."  
  
Bryan nodded. "Good idea." Inwardly, he knew he should be bothered by the whole thougt of Angel not wanting to pay proper respect to a dead man, but knowing Kenji, it was the most acceptable course of action. And she showed plenty of respect for dead men. She was nice to him, wash't she? Bryan grinned at the thought. Then, to cover up his merriment, he coughed and said, "I'm going to bed."  
  
"'Night," said Angel. "I just have to clean up the damn mess he made in his bedroom." At his surprised look, she raised an eyebrow. "What do you want? Blood smells horrible, and if I leave it there, then pretty soon the neighbors will smell it, and much as I hated him, I don't want that to happen."  
  
A sensible idea. Bryan waved goodnight, and headed into his room, where he sat on the end of his bed and heaved a sigh. He hadn't let it show, but tonight had really rattled him. Kenji had killed himself because he hadn't been able to control Angel. And now what? Did that task suddenly fall on him? Was he Angel's guardian now? The concept bothered him. Kenji had simply been working for Dr. Abel, a man Bryan hated profoundly. Then a slow smile crept across his thin lips. Abel had told him that he'd be dead in a few months. What a pleasant surprise it would be if he showed up at Abel's new lab with Angel in tow. What if he asked Angel to intimidate Abel enough to obey her? She could command Abel to modify Bryan's body, to prolong his life.  
  
That had been the main source of his alcoholic binge: the knowledge that he would slowly waste away, and die a slow and probably painful death. He'd almost gotten to the point where he was ready to die. He'd just wanted to get it over with. Angel had woken him up from that stupor, thank God, and now he was ready to challenge fate. He knew what he wanted to do. What he had to do. He just had no idea how to do it.  
  
He went to sleep that night with a considerably lighter conscience, one that Angel was glad to feel in him. She was standing in Kenji's bedroom, the mess cleaned up. She was forced to restrain a sudden desire to torch the entire room, but supressed it with the knowledge that she would likely burn down the entire house. She liked this house. She closed her eyes for a moment. She could almost feel Kenji's presence in this room. His annoying voice, his domineering nature, his disappointment in her. She had been a chore to him. A slave, a duty to be taken care of. She'd stood up to him, and he'd killed himself. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.  
  
She and Takeru headed upstairs to her bedroom. Takeru snoozed on the end of her bed while she screwed around on the Internet for an hour or so. She smiled when she found what she was looking for.  
  
Bryan was awakened at 7:00 the next morning to the incredible smells of frying eggs and bacon. Pulling on a pair of pants over his boxers, he headed to the kitchen. Angel was busy at the stove, working two frying pans and the toaster. He set the table without being asked, and ten minutes later they were munching happily on the all-American classic breakfast. Fried eggs, bacon, toast, and some strong coffee for Bryan. Angel drank apple cider, since she hated the smell and taste of coffee profoundly.  
  
They chatted, an activity not common for Angel. She was the martial artist/freak of the community, and it was a foreign exercise for her to have a casual conversation with someone without threatening to tear them limb from limb. She enjoyed it immensely.  
  
She expertly steered the converation toward a touchy subject: money. "Bryan, we have a problem. Now that Kenji is dead, we are not going to be earning as much money as we need to survive."  
  
"But you have a job," he objected, having a feeling that he knew where this was going.  
  
"If I may hand your own words back to you, barmaids don't earn that much money." She took a breath. "Bryan, you need to find a job."  
  
Bryan chewed thoughtfully. He didn't really want to find a job. The last couple of months had been rather nice, with someone doing everything for him while he sat on his ass and watched TV all day, something he hadn't done since high school. But she was right. He would have to find a job. "And I gather that you have some ideas as to where I might work?" he asked blithely.  
  
"As a matter of fact, I do," said Angel a bit snippily, ignoring the eye roll she recieved. "I doubt you could get a job at Jerry's. No offense, but you're not much of a people person. That rules out department stores, restaraunts, and telemarketing."  
  
Bryan raised an eyebrow. Telemarketing? What the hell?  
  
"And I gather that you don't want to be a police officer again?" She flinched at the glare she recieved. "The most logical options I can think of for you are bodyguard, bouncer, or prison guard." All of them jobs of intimidation and physical skill. She'd read him perfectly. He waited for her to continue. "No bar in the area needs a bouncer, to my knowledge. There's nobody that needs a bodyguard either, especially one so cheerful as you." Again with the heavy sarcasm, and he couldn't help but grin a little.  
  
"And I take that to mean that you know some prisons in the area that need more guards?"  
  
"No, but I do know a prison guard. Maybe he can help."  
  
Bryan didn't even ask the question. She answered it anyway. "He goes to the judo class I'm going to. He's even taller than you, but he's funny as hell. You'd like him."  
  
"I'm sure." Bryan took another sip of coffee. It was strong and black, and provided a good distraction for him to think about the whole matter. He didn't want a job, he wanted Angel to go find Abel and kick the mad doctor's ass. And this entire family situation still bothered him, as it seemed... almost TOO normal.   
  
His felt a pang of sorrow from the intense thoughts that came to his mind. A family. He'd had a family at one time. A mother, a father, and the token bullying older brother that had been Bryan's best friend. Bryan and Nick, the two Fury brothers, had been inseparable during their childhood. Nick was older, but Bryan was taller, so it evened out. Last he'd heard from Nick, he'd taken some secretive miltary job. He'd sent a picture. Nick, with the standard Fury brown hair going gray at the temples was smiling and waving for the picture. Smiling, with an eye patch. There'd been a short letter from him as well. Doing well, new girlfriend, lost an eye, blah blah blah. Nick had never been much for a friendly personality. It had been the last time that Bryan had ever heard from his brother, three years ago. Now Nick probably thought his little brother was dead. Bryan wondered if his militaristic older brother was still alive. Probably.  
  
Angel came back from the bathroom, jarring him out of his thoughts. He hadn't even noticed that she'd left. She walked to the table to gather the plates from the table, rinsed them, and stuck them in the dishwasher. His thoughts were disturbed, as if he'd been thinking something sad. It was centered around a family instinct. She still didn't feel right prying into his mind (when he was awake, anyway) so she pulled away. "What were you just thinking about?" she asked cautiously. "Your thoughts are depressed."  
  
The question jolted him. Over the past few months, he'd slowly come to terms with her empathic and telepathic abilities, though they still disturbed him on occasion. This was one of those times. He also knew that she usually asked permission before really reading someone's mind. She usually kept a light link on his, a means of companionship for an otherwise lonely young adult. Never had anything sexual passed between them. She was simply the little sister keeping in close contact with her older brother. It still scared him, though.  
  
"Just the thought that I'm gonna have to actually work now," he said, keeping his tone deliberately light. She saw the lie for what it was, but let it slide. Then she stood with her arms folded and her foot tapping. Bryan raised an eyebrow. "What? What do you want?"  
  
"Today's Saturday, dumbass." She returned an exasperated look for his blank one. "Judo class at the health club? Wake up, Bryan."  
  
"Oh." It was then that Bryan noticed the oversized duffel bag hanging from one of her shoulders. It probably held her gi as well as her sparring pads. Sheepishly he got ready to leave, and fetched his black gloves.   
  
This was going to be a long night, he thought glumly. 


	10. A Day in the Life

*All this, I see, I find  
Push the envelope to the line  
Make it, break it, take it  
Until I'm overrated  
  
Click, click, BOOM!  
I'm coming down on the stereo,  
Hear me on the radio  
Click, click, BOOM!  
I'm coming down with a new style,  
If you know us both, while (?)  
Click, click, BOOM!  
I'm on the radion station  
Talking to the nation  
Leaving a scene of devastation  
  
I can see it in my mind  
I can see it in the rhymes (?)  
Close enough to touch, and now  
Far away enough to die*  
  
*Saliva - Click Click Boom*  
  
Angel drove, of course, to the club where she directed him to the men's room while she changed in the ladies room. When she came out, she was dressed in a sleeveless gi, with a t-shirt underneath. The gi was white, with black trim, and a small black Japanese symbol on the lapel. Her belt was black, and there was no indication of what art it came from. Bryan simply wore kicking jeans and his black gloves, with one of his favorite black t-shirts. Both were barefoot.  
  
Then Bryan saw something on her left bicep. A tattoo. Slowly he reached out and lifted her sleeve, and stared at it hard. She noticed his stare, and her gaze followed his to the black design on her arm. It was an interesting design. Simple, yet powerful. Kinda like two lightning bolts twisted together, or something like that. Something about it pricked a memory buried deep within him. At the last King of Iron Fist Tournament, he had seen someone with a tattoo like that. He looked up to see Angel staring at him with a puzzled look on her face. "Didn't know you had a tattoo," he said quickly. "I like it." Placated, she led him to the aerobics room.  
  
There were five men in the aerobics room. Two pairs stood around talking while a fifth put a techno CD in the CD player. All of them greeted Angel with a mixture of friendliness and respect. They were respectful with good reason; they'd had plenty of experience with her unmatched skills and volitile temper.  
  
First was Erik, the short but powerfully built college student with the techno music. He was also the clown of the bunch, and would lapse into a period of rave-dancing for no reason whatsoever. He was a pretty good dancer. He was also a good grappler, his stocky form the ideal balance of strength and speed. He and Angel started a match almost immediately, his short brown hair blurring as the two circled each other before colliding.  
  
Next was Harry, the soft-spoken man that was also one of the highest-ranking students. In his late thirties, with short, curly brown hair and glasses. He was talking earnestly with a raven-haired man named Billy, who in Angel's opinion was a complete jackass most of the time. He wore a black belt, proof of his mastery of Tae Kwon Do. His skills were dim in comparison to Angel's, however.  
  
Aside from Bryan and Angel, the most striking figure in the room was Rick. He was impossibly tall, 6'7" to be exact, and his blond hair was kept short. He stood head and shoulders above Billy and Harry, grinning like a fool as he laughed at Billy and Harry's jokes and tossing out some one-liners to the dueling pair on the mat. Next to him was the instructor, a short, darkly tanned man with striking silver-white hair. 56 years old, and in the best physical condition that Bryan had ever seen. "Parris is a weird one," Angel had said of her instructor, "but he knows what he's doing."  
  
Angel defeated Erik in a matter of minutes, catching him in a figure-four ankle lock. Erik yelped and pounded the mat, and Angel released him instantly. Then she helped him to his feet, and walked over to Bryan. "This is my brother, Bryan. He's a kickboxer." Properly introduced, Angel left to go pick a fight with Billy.  
  
"Dude, your sister is nuts," Erik confided in the quiet Bryan. Bryan nodded in silent agreement, keeping his eyes on the two combatants. They weren't grappling, it was going to be a standing fight. Billy charged fast with a flurry of kicks to the head, which Angel neatly sidestepped before coming up and burying her elbow in his kidney. He grunted, and stepped back, trying to hit her with a spinning roundhouse. Again she ducked easily and then raised her right foot up, up, up, her body stretching like a rubber band to achieve this incredible height. Her toes curled back as the ball of her foot slammed into his chin.  
  
"Easy, Angel," chided the instructor, Parris. "This is a practice fight, remember? If you hurt your partner, you won't have a partner anymore."  
  
"There's always Bryan," Angel tossed out before leaping to the side as Billy peppered her with quick kicks from his right foot. She blocked and parried before grabbing his foot in midair on her left side and sweeping her right leg around to kick him gently in the ribs. "Bang, you're dead."  
  
Billy accepted defeat graciously, and the two stopped to chat about kicking and blocking techniques. They were soon way over Bryan's head, and he turned to Erik, who asked a few questions about kickboxing. Bryan found himself the center of attention for Harry and Erik as he demonstrated a few of his more powerful kicks. The poor-quality aerobics bag shuddered and threatened to collapse from the force of the blows.  
  
Eager for a fight that he may be able to win, Billy challenged Bryan to a sparring match. Billy was fast, almost as fast as that Korean kid that Bryan had trashed durning the last King of Iron Fist Tournament. Bryan didn't mention this of course, he simply stuck to the same strategy he had used before: blocking until he saw an opening, then rushing forward with a series of punches and elbow strikes. It worked like a charm. Billy was soon fighting exhaustion as this pale-skinned, scarred man kept blocking and rushing. The frightening part was that Bryan never took his eyes away from those of his opponent, and he never blinked. Just that same determined, pissed-off look that told Billy that he would lose the fight.  
  
And he did. In a surprise move, Bryan suddenly ducked down and swept Billy's legs from under him. The move knocked him down hard, and he landed clumsily on his shoulder. He looked up to find the tattooed man staring at him with that same unblinking look in his eyes and his fists still on guard. Something in that gaze rattled the normally unshakable Billy, who acknowledged Bryan as the victor. Bryan smirked, and Angel rushed up and clapped him heartily on the back. "Not bad, Bryan. Not many people can beat Billy."  
  
"Except gray-haired freaks like you," Billy muttered good-naturedly under his breath. Suddenly Bryan's black-gloved hand reached out and wrapped around the fallen man's throat, and raised him to his feet.  
  
"What did you just say about my sister?" Bryan growled, fixing Billy with that same piercing gaze. Angel knew that Billy had been joking, but the joke still hurt, and she looked at him with a mixture of anger and disappointment.  
  
Fear showed in Billy's eyes as he stared into the steel-blue orbs of this pale-skinned monster. The look was akin to a deer caught in the headlights, Angel thought idly. The raven-haired man raised his hands placatingly. "Hey man, just a joke. She knows I'm joking."  
  
Bryan stared Billy into submission, then let him drop back down on the mat. Then he turned to Angel. "Let's go. I'm done here."  
  
They'd only been there for twenty minutes at the most, but the look on Bryan's face left no room for argument. She shot an apologetic look to Billy, clapped Erik on the back in a goodbye, and tossed a few jokes to the remaining men. Outside the room, however, Angel backed her brother against the wall and stared into his eyes. "What the hell was that about?" she glared.  
  
Bryan returned the glare. "He called you a freak."  
  
"He calls me a freak all the time. And I kick his ass for it, too. Just because he was a bit bold tonight doesn't give you the right to go ape-shit all over my friends!"  
  
"You call those friends?" Bryan spat the word like it was a curse.  
  
Angel lowered her eyes. "They're the closest thing to friends that I have," she said quietly. She released him, and headed to the ladies room with Bryan staring after her.  
  
The trip home was completely silent, for the most part. Then she spoke up. "I forgot about asking about that prison guard job."  
  
Bryan turned and looked at her. "Please tell me Billy wasn't the prison guard."  
  
Angel gave a short, dry laugh. "Billy? Hell no, he's an electrician. Big Rick was the prison guard." She snorted. "So much for that idea."  
  
"Yeah, whatever."  
  
Angel looked over and grinned. "Slothful wretch."  
  
Bryan didn't answer. 


	11. Sugar and Spite

*Cause we like having fun at other people's expense, and   
Cutting people down is just a minor offense, and   
It's none of your concern, I guess you'll never learn  
I'm sick of being told the way to turn (?)  
  
I don't wanna waste my time  
Become another casualty of society  
I will never fall in line  
Become another victim of nonconformity  
Back down*  
  
*Sum41 - Fat Lip*  
Lunchtime, at the local high school. They were on block scheduling. Four classes a day, with about an hour's free time between second and third period. One of the things you could do during that time was eat. Most people used the time to eat, and chat with friends. The overachievers studied with teachers and did their homework, while the "bad kids" smoked pot behind the gym.  
  
Angel kept to herself, as she always did. Eat a quick lunch, then find somewhere quiet to be away from the chaotic jumble of minds that often threatened to overwhelm her limited psychic abilities. So many minds in a small space... it was a wonder that she was still sane, and even then she had to wonder.  
  
Today she was walking the halls, in the classic Angel pose of her head bowed and her hands stuffed in the pockets of the ever-present trenchcoat. With lunchtime at hand, most of the kids were eating. For some reason, it calmed her down to hear her footsteps echoing back to her from the nearly-empty hallway. Then she spotted an Army recruiter standing in the lobby next to a table of brochures, pens, and buttons. He looked bored out of his mind, so Angel ambled over to him and asked him if he had any war stories. He didn't, being fresh out of cadet training, so told her about that instead. She was an avid listener of anything that was remotely violent, and stayed to hear his horror stories of demanding drill sergeants and all the tests they had to take.  
  
Distracting sounds reached her sensitive ears, and she quietly excused herself. There were shouts, many of anger and one of fear. That fearful voice was accompanied by an equally fearful mind, and Angel's blood boiled as she recognized the angry minds. Bullies. Absently she popped her knuckles as she strode toward the noise, coming from an empty classroom.  
  
"I said gimme your lunch money, you little wimp!" The speaker was a harsh gang-girl named Jolene, the de facto leader of an all-girl gang called the Pink Panthers. Angel found the name to be irritatingly cute, and made sure to rub it in whenever possible.  
  
The victim was a blond girl with striking aquamarine eyes. A freshman, getting her first taste of the pecking order in the high school. She was cowering in the corner as Jolene and a group of Panthers taunted her mercilessly.  
  
"Listen, slut, if you want to live, then I suggest that you follow our rules." Jolene towered over the poor freshman, her hand raised and ready to strike.  
  
"If you want to eat dinner with that hand tonight, then I suggest you put it down now," came the harsh voice from the doorway. Jolene whirled to see Angel standing there, with a look in her eyes that would have thawed a glacier.  
  
"You stay out of this, freak!" Jolene snapped.  
  
"Fat chance, Pinky."  
  
Another Panther, Heather, stepped forward. "Leave now, or we'll break her in half!"  
  
"Try it and I'll drop you where you stand." Angel refused to budge. Heather was forced to turn away from the icy flames in Angel's eyes.  
  
Lesser Panthers knew a fight coming when they saw it, and rushed to scoot the empty desks out of the way to clear room for the combatants. It looked to be Jolene and Angel.  
  
"I win, you leave her alone. You win, you get to kick her ass all over the place." Angel's tone was firm. There was no possiblity of her losing. She had never lost a fight before. Ever. She'd kicked ass on well-trained men three times her size, and this was a simple street-gang thug.  
  
"Hers won't be the only ass I'll be kicking!" Jolene snarled. She balled up her fists in what seemed to Angel to be an ameturish fighting stance, at best.   
  
Angel stood like a statue, hands folded in front of her. Inwardly she felt just a bit of pity for her opponent. Jolene had no idea what she was getting into. Then a thought occured to her. She was already in enough trouble at school. This one wouldn't be self-defense, because Angel had challenged the fight. The principal, "Iron Balls" McGinty, was just itching to suspend Angel. It frustrated the poor woman to no end to be unable to get Angel for fighting, since Angel was always the victim. Not so this time.  
  
Jolene came forward, fists up, bouncing like a boxer. Angel stood impassively, almost bored, her arms folded. Then Jolene threw a swift jab. She hit nothing but air as Angel flexed her upper half to one side, then straightened and stood as motionless as before. Jolene tried again, with a 1-2 combination. Both of them were dodged effortlessly. Jolene muttered something and tried to tackle the living statue, who sidestepped the attack neatly and turned to face her opponent again. Her hands hadn't moved an iota.  
  
Now Jolene rushed like a boxer, continually dancing forward as she threw jabs, hooks, tried thows, tried using her fingernails. Angel became a silvery whirlwind as she leaned, dodged, sidestepped, and slipped away. Angel's arms stayed firmly in place as the albino GrandMaster snaked away from many would-be devastating hits. The anger and frustration in Jolene's mind mounted exponentially as she continued to box with this living shadow.  
  
***********************************  
  
In the lobby, the army recruiter heard the snarls and cries, and loped down the hall, to that classroom. His shout died on his lips and he watched agape as Angel effortlessy dodged the pitiful attacks of the tiring Jolene.  
  
***********************************  
  
Now Angel was tiring of the game, and decided to put her plan into action. She continued to dance around her sweating opponent, this time dragging her foot behind her in order to back away more than sidestep. Jolene took the bait and followed Angel like a snarling puppy, shouting curses and throwing round after round of ineffectual hits. Angel merely gave that cocky, knowing smile as she continued to lead Jolene around the room.  
  
Then Angel slammed into one of the walls, her back firmly pressed against the painted cinderblocks. She adopted a look of terror, and seemed to freeze in place.  
  
Believing her prey to be trapped, Jolene smiled evilly as she cocked her fist and threw a strong punch, wrapping all her might into it.  
  
Angel saw the fist coming, and waited to the last second to twitch out of the way, ducking down and to the side, as Jolene's fist whistled past her head--  
  
--and slammed full-strength into the wall. The girl's face contorted with pain, and she cradled the mangled hand in her other. Angel had danced away again, and was now standing as impassively as if the contest had never taken place.  
  
"What'd you do that for, bitch?" screeched Heather as she rushed to Jolene's side and was hit with a striking slap by Jolene's good hand.  
  
"Yeah, like it's my duty to stand there and let her cream me," Angel replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Then her arms finally moved, coming in front of her as she took a fighting stance. "You want some more? This time I'll fight back!"  
  
Jolene muttered random obscenities as she hobbled out the door and to the office, her injured hand now bleeding and turning black around the knuckles. Probably broke it, Angel thought.  
  
There was an impasse, as the girls all stared at each other. Then there was the sound of voices in the hall, and locker doors slamming. The kids were back from lunch. A trio of boys squeezed past the Army recruiter and filed into the classroom. Apparently this was their next-hour class, but then one boy's face grew wide.  
  
"Christie!" The youth dropped his books and raced over to the terrified freshman. "Christie, are you okay?" Angel noted that the two bore a striking resemblance to each other, and correctly guessed that they were siblings.  
  
The little blond girl, Christie, looked into her brother's eyes. "I'm fine, Jeff," she said shakily and tried to stand.  
  
The youth, a bleach-blond, helped his sister to her feet. Then he turned to Angel, and stuck out his hand. "I'm Jeff Clay. Thanks for your help."  
  
"I didn't do it for you," Angel replied brusquely, and ignored the hand. "I have no respect for people that can't take care of themselves."  
  
A look of annoyance and confusion crossed his face. "Then why did you?"  
  
She stared him deep in the eyes, her lavendar orbs fixed intently on his own, the same startling aquamarine color as his sister's. Then that stern mouth opened slightly. "Perhaps I hate bullies more than I hate weaklings." That said, she spun on her heel and quickly exited the room, headed for the office where she knew she would be summoned quite soon.  
  
Jeff's jaw dropped, and he sputtered, trying to think of a reply to shoot at the disappearing back. Christie only whimpered and buried her face in her brother's chest.  
  
Stern faces greeted Angel at the office, and she silently followed Iron Balls McGinty to the back rooms. Jolene was just leaving in an ambulance, her hand indeed broken. Angel took a seat in one of the chairs surrounding the bare folding table. Standing around the room were Principal McGinty, Officer Todd, and the Army recruiter, who had witnessed nearly the entire thing. Officer Todd, the school corrections officer, left to fetch Christie Clay. With her exceptional hearing, Angel had no trouble listening to the quiet but animated conversation between the Principal and the Army recruiter. He was reliving what he'd seen of the fight, repeatedly expressing awe at the way Angel had dodged the attacks. He'd never seen anything like it in his life.  
  
Principal McGinty turned to the seated Angel. "You know I'm going to suspend you, right?"  
  
Angel shook her head. "With all due respect, I think not. I mean, in all technicality, it wasn't a true fight."  
  
"Beg pardon?"  
  
"It wasn't a fight. Nor was it self defense." A tiny smile quirked the edges of Angel's hard mouth. "How can it be a fight if I didn't fight back? She never touched me, I never touched her, and she punched the wall of her own accord."  
  
Principal McGinty could only stare, and Angel could practically see the gears turning slowly in her head. A woman in her late fifties, with blond-white hair worn grandma-style, and thick horn-rimmed glasses. She always wore pants, rumor having it that her ankles were bigger than her thighs. These were the same people that had claimed to find mouse bones in the mystery meat, but beggers couldn't be choosers in the information department.  
  
Officer Todd returned with the two Clay siblings. Angel was surprised; normally only those directly involved in these little spats were brought back here. Then she realized that it was because Christie was about to dissolve, her mind still in shock after the attack. Jeff was along for emotional support, but Angel guessed that he'd been told to keep his mouth shut.  
  
At an agonizingly slow pace, in Angel's opinion, Christie spilled out her story, and Angel's part in the whole thing. Jeff kept trying to catch Angel's eye, but she pointedly ignored him. He was still mystified as to her behavior, and his mind clamored for an explanation. She wasn't about to give him one, at least not now.  
  
Principal McGinty desperately wanted to expel Angel, or at least suspend her. She was tired of late-night calls by parents demanding that Angel be punished for maiming their child, whereas Angel was always the victim. She was a bully magnet, and for some strange reason the bullies kept attacking even after injuries as severe as this one. This was the first time Angel had actually sought a fight, and even then she technically hadn't done anything wrong.  
  
Angel smiled slightly as she registered the defeat in Principal McGinty's mind. She almost felt sorry for the poor woman. Almost.  
  
There was another problem for the distraught woman. Angel was a walking harassment lawsuit just waiting to explode. She was being harassed all the time by bullies, but had yet to file any lawsuits. Part of that was that Angel enjoyed the exercise. Another was that if Angel sued, she'd name Principal McGinty as one of the defendants, and could drag it all over the town that the principal did nothing to "ease this poor child's pain" or some shit like that. Youths with physical deformities were always natural bully magnets, and the albino Angel was the meanest one yet. Therefore, she continually held it over the older woman's head that if she punished Angel, her own ass was on the line. A crude tactic, and one Angel didn't enjoy using, but it worked.  
  
Angel didn't consider her albinism a deformity at all. In fact, she rather enjoyed her distinctive silver hair. People left her alone, and she was just fine with that. She wasn't much of a people person. The only person in the school that was even remotely her friend was Mr. Oehlschlaeger, the Japanese teacher. She was his student aide, and they would frequently hold fast-paced discussions in Angel's favorite language. Angel and Mr. O conversed on everything from bullies to politics to restaurants to TV shows. The only living adult besides Bryan and Jerry that she actually trusted.  
  
With the stories of Jolene, Angel, Christie, and the Army guy all saying that Angel didn't even throw a punch, Principal McGinty reluctantly dismissed her charges and headed dejectedly to her office, wishing she were home with a nice movie and a tall glass of scotch. Angel didn't crack a smile as she stood tall and headed for the halls. They would be late for their third-hour classes, but Angel's third hour was Japanese, and Mr. O completely understood her bully problem.  
  
She was digging through her locker for the Japanese book (why the hell did she need to study the textbook? She was not only his aide, she was practically a native speaker) when her mind registered another close being with intent toward her. She stood and turned, and saw Jeff heading toward her. Christie was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"I want to know why you stuck up for my sister," Jeff said calmly, leaning against the lockers.  
  
"I already told you why."  
  
"But that can't be it! Nobody does stuff like that just because they feel like it," he protested.  
  
She straightened and looked him in the eye. "Maybe I do. You got a problem with it?"  
  
"No, no, it's fine," he said quickly, and raised his hands in peace. "I've just never met anybody that thinks like you do."  
  
"Take a picture, it lasts longer," she snapped. Ignoring the hurt look on his face, she gathered her books and was walking away when she heard his voice again. She paused, without turning around.  
  
"Hey, Angel. I know you don't like it, but... I just wanted to say thank you, anyway. I appreciate you standing up for my sister like that."  
  
Angel stood for a moment longer, then resumed walking away without replying. A wave of frustration passed through his mind, to be replaced with intrigue. Curiosity. Not the 'hey, what are you?' curiosity she was used to. No, this one was different. He seemed genuinely interested in the way she thought.  
  
Angel decided that she would tolerate the boy, because he definitely had intent to talk to her on future occasions.  
  
Plus, he had a really nice smile. 


	12. The Dating Game

*Dark and cold, closing in  
I'm feeling something new begin  
Is it a flower that begins to bloom?  
Or is it history repeating too soon?  
  
All at once, it rushes in  
Makes itself my new best friend  
Is it safe, I don't know  
Bought the ticket, so I'll try and enjoy the show  
  
And I pray that tonight  
Will show me mercy from this fight  
And I pray that tonight  
That I am wrong and she is right*  
  
*Dogstar - And I Pray*  
  
  
  
Bryan was waiting for her when she got home. His face was completely expressionless, and his mind was a mix of disappointment, shock, amazement, and anger. He was mad at her for getting in a fight, but he couldn't believe how she did it. Neither could anyone else, for that matter.  
  
"How-" he started.  
  
"Don't ask."  
  
"Okay then, next question. Do you still want me to find a job, or are you okay with me still sitting on my ass all day?"  
  
She glared at him. "Under normal circumstances, I would beat your ass just for saying that."  
  
He folded his arms. "And I take it these are not normal circumstances?"  
  
She glared at him again. "What are you, a fucking owl?"  
  
He raised his hands in surrender. "Well, aren't we just full of piss and vinegar today? Explain these unusual circumstances."  
  
"What's unusual, other than the fact that I just inherited a sizeable fortune?"  
  
"Do WHAT now?"  
  
She smiled that knowing, cocky smile and dropped her backpack on her chair in the living room. "A lawyer came to the school today. Him, and some banker guy. They said that to their knowledge, Kenji didn't leave a will. He didn't have any living blood relatives, either. Guess who got everything?"  
  
He folded his arms and let his eyes bore holes into her back as she rummaged through her bag for the documents. "You gotta be shitting me."  
  
She grinned. "Nope. Here, take a look." She handed him the papers.  
  
Bryan saw the dollar amount and the assets, and almost shit his pants. Angel was nearly a millionaire! Not actually a million, granted, but it was still several hundred thousand dollars. "Jesus Christ..."  
  
"Exactly. He was a bastard, but a rich bastard. He made LOTS of money, and saved nearly every penny of it in banks all over the world. Almost like he was trying to hide it, from me. I also got the house, and all his personal effects, including those supercomputers in his study." She couldn't keep the banana smile off her face. "I'm the luckiest foster kid in the United States."  
  
Bryan had to sit for a moment, to digest all this information. "So, where is this fortune now?"  
  
Angel curled up in the chair. "I'm going to organize my finances tonight. Most of it will stay right where it is, in savings. I'm going to put some in the stock market. And tomorrow, you and I are going car shopping."  
  
Bryan thought some more. "So, we're rich?"  
  
"I'm rich. But of course I'll share. After all, what are siblings for, other than people to beat up on?" She grinned.  
  
Both of them went to bed very happy that night.  
  
  
  
The next day, Bryan and Angel went car shopping. Bryan chose a black Dodge Ram, while Angel traded in her old gray Honda for a Grand Prix. She wanted to be conservative, as her foster father had just died and she needed to keep up appearances. It was still an awesome car.  
  
Angel slipped Bryan a hundred, and told him to go enjoy himself. She went home, and began the process of cooking lunch. A nice, big lunch, consisting of whatever she wanted.  
  
An hour later, Bryan marched in the door and plopped his new black leather jacket over the back of a chair. The house was thick with cooking smells. Walking in the kitchen, he immediately spotted a basket of warm, fluffy rolls just out of the oven. Angel was busy stirring something cooking on the stove, so he reached out to grab a roll.  
  
"Touch that and I'll break your finger."  
  
Bryan drew back as if he'd been burned, which he hadn't, and stared incredulously at Angel. What the hell? She hadn't turned around, so how the hell did she know?  
  
"I AM psychic, you know," she said a bit snippily.  
  
Bryan's shoulders slumped, defeated.  
  
"Jesus. Fine, take one. You're gonna eat me out of house and home, anyway. I still don't know how you eat so much."  
  
Bryan shrugged and grabbed a roll. It was really hot, and he juggled it between hands until it cooled down a bit. "What's with all the cooking?"  
  
"It's my birthday. I can cook if I want to, can't I?"  
  
"Fuck, I don't care. How old are you?"  
  
"Eighteen today."  
  
Bryan coughed around the roll. Her eighteenth birthday? He would have sworn she was nineteen when he first met her. She looked and acted years older than she actually was.  
  
"Why, thank you. In a few decades, I'm sure I'll be clamoring for compliments like that." Her tone was incredibly sarcastic.  
  
"Dammit, Angel, what have I told you about reading my mind without my permission?" Now he was the patronizing older brother.  
  
"Don't? Yeah yeah, whatever. You seem to forget who cooks and cleans for you. Speaking of which, I'm doing laundry tonight, so I need you to put all those shorts of yours in the laundry room." She caught his disgusted thought. "Unless you'd like to do it yourself?"  
  
"No no, that's fine." He muttered something under his breath and went to fetch his dirty drawers. She grinned and continued stirring the spaghetti.  
  
Lunch was a nice, friendly affair. Then Angel spoke up. "You have something important to annouce?"  
  
He glared at her around his glass. Setting it on the table, he took a breath and said "I need your help with something."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I've decided to start dating again."  
  
The silence was deafning.  
  
Then, "Please tell me you're joking." Even then, she knew he wasn't joking.  
  
"I'm not joking."  
  
Angel took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully. "So, what do you need my help with?"  
  
He coughed. Not just an embarassed cough, but a deep, rasping one coming from his diaphragm. He hacked for a moment, then took a drink to soothe his aching throat. At Angel's worried look, he gave her a reassuring glance. "In response to your question, I was wondering if you knew the best places in town to pick up chicks."  
  
"Pick up chicks?" Angel echoed. She glared at him. "Do these 'chicks' have a name, or are they just walking pieces of meat to you?"  
  
He eyed her warily for a moment. "So you're a feminist. Isn't that cute."  
  
"Don't get smart with me. I can kick your ass any day, and you know it."  
  
"Yes, but THEY don't, so don't spoil it for me." He took another drink. "You do, and I will find a way to beat your ass. You have to sleep sometime."  
  
She raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. Then, "The best place I know of to get a date would be Jerry's." Emphasis on the 'date' part; she was still disgusted with this sexist pig.  
  
"I was afraid of that."  
  
  
  
The Bar wasn't very crowded that night. Since Angel was now officially eighteen, she could legally serve alcohol. She was behind the bar with Jerry, learning how to mix drinks. She'd paid for a private table for Bryan, and now he sat there with a beer, and one chair pulled out in what he hoped was an invinging gesture. None of the women were interested in this pale, scarred, tattooed man, and for all his bravado Angel could tell that he was slowly getting depressed.  
  
The late-night crowd was beginning to trickle in, with a few men and women in business suits coming in to knock back a stiff one before going home. There were more than a few single women, and Angel psychically nudged each one, just a nudge, in her brother's direction. They noticed him, all right, and immediately looked away.  
  
Even the hookers weren't going for him, Angel thought with some pity. Her baddass brother was shaping up to be Least Desirable Male. She had to do something. She didn't know why she helped him. She'd never felt the need to help anyone before, and here she was helping the mighty, hardass Bryan get a date. She was going to laugh her ass off when she got home tonight.  
  
She walked over to his table and grabbed his empty beer bottles, and pushed the chair in. When he glared at her, she gave him a wink and walked over to a table of single women. She sat down two martinis, saying that they were from her brother, and pointed him out before heading back to the bar. The women eyed him, eyed the glasses, then gave polite shakes of their heads in his direction before sipping on the drinks. Bryan was disappointed. Angel was puzzled, that usually worked on TV.  
  
She took a light reading of the female minds in the bar. They found her brother frightning and unapproachable, somebody to be left alone. Well, she could fix that. Grabbing a Diet Coke, she walked over to her brother's table and plopped down in a chair. Feigning exhaustion, she started chatting idly with him. At first he had no idea what the hell she was doing, and even got mad at her, before she leaned over and whispered a little in his ear. He got the message.  
  
For the next hour, anyone who wanted a drink went to the bar, and Angel would stand up, and prepare the drink at the bar. Then she would head back to Bryan's table and watch TV with him, making snide cracks at the crappy sitcoms. She also made sure to refer to him as either Bryan or even "brother dear" as often as she could, as nauseating as that made her. She was making him seem approachable, and it was working.  
  
Finally Bryan felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned in his seat, and had a flash of deja vu as he stared at the woman. A brown-eyed blond, with business-suit type clothes, a martini in one hand, and a pocketbook in the other. What was her name? Oh yeah, Cassandra. A very desirable female, in Bryan's book.  
  
"Excuse me, sir. I know this isn't my table, but may I join you?" She was polite, and a bit nervous.  
  
Bryan stared for a moment, when Angel gave him a swift kick in the shins. He grunted, glared at his silver-haired sister, and pulled out a chair. "If you want to." He grunted again as Angel kicked him a second time. She made a quick gesture, one that was lost on Cassandra, that Bryan immediately read as meaning 'dumbass.' Bryan gave her a meaningful glare, and Angel rose from the table.  
  
"No no, Angel. I wanted to ask you something."  
  
Confused, Angel sat back down. "Yes?"  
  
"I heard Kenji died. I'm really sorry to hear that." Her face was one of compassion, but there was a faint gleam in those wide, brown eyes.  
  
Angel caught the gleam. "Are you really?"  
  
The older woman coughed. "Well, I supposed I am if you are, but the really sad thing is that now there's nobody to fix up my computer for me."  
  
Angel grinned. "Well, I could always do that. I mean, I still have all of his stuff, and he taught me almost everything he knew about them. Keep it to yourself, though, because I'm only doing it because I know you."  
  
Cassandra gave a thankful smile, when Bryan loudly cleared his throat. "Oh, I remember you. The rude man from a few months ago, right?" She started to rise, when Angel caught her arm.  
  
"Cassandra, I'd like to introduce my long-lost brother, Bryan."  
  
The blond woman froze, half-seated, and stared at Angel. "I didn't know you had a brother, Angel."  
  
Angel's reply was thinly laced with sarcasm. "Neither did I. That's why he was long-lost." She planted a firm idea of curiosity in the older woman's mind, and stood. "I'd better get back to the bar."  
  
Now Bryan and Cassandra were alone. Just great, thought Bryan. He was a bit rustier than he thought when it came to getting chicks. Now here was one, and he was silent.  
  
Cassandra cleared her throat. "Well, I think we should start over. My name is Cassandra Harrelson."  
  
Bryan straightened in his chair. "I'm Bryan Fury."  
  
She frowned. "I thought Angel's last name was Leah," she said, pronouncing it the two-syllable way (lee-ah).  
  
"Leah," Bryan corrected automatically, pronouncing it Lee. "And don't ask me where she got it, either. I have no fuckin' idea." She frowned, and he got worried. Had he offended her, or something? Damn, these chicks nowadays were too prissy for him. "Sorry."  
  
"No problem."  
  
There was a period of silence, in which Angel brought drinks for the both of them. A vodka tonic for Bryan, and Jim Beam on the rocks for Cassandra. "On the house," was Angel's explanation, and she left them to stare at the beverages.  
  
Cassandra took a drink, found it to her liking, and remarked "You certainly have a nice little sister."  
  
Bryan snorted. "You don't live with her."  
  
She smiled. "Ah yes, sibling rivalry. I'm guessing that you two reunited that night a couple of months ago, correct? Yes, I thought so. I've never seen a case of sibling rivalry develop this fast before."  
  
He snorted again. "What are you, a shrink or something?"  
  
"No, but I do work with a lot of people." She didn't offer any more than that, and he puzzled over it for a minute before mentally tossing it over his shoulder.  
  
At the bar, Angel could almost feel the weak, infantile link between them. They were definitely attracted to each other, and she smiled as she thought of her baddass brother walking on eggshells around this beautiful woman.  
  
Yes, she was definitely going to laugh her ass off later tonight. She smiled, and went back to her job. 


	13. Third Wheel

***Author's note: You remember that adult content I mention earlier? Well, here it is. Some of it, anyway. Don't say I didn't warn you! :D***  
  
  
  
*I know your life is empty and   
You hate to face this world alone  
So you're searching for an angel  
Someone that can make you whole  
  
I cannot save you  
I can't even save myself  
So save yourself*  
  
*Stabbing Westward - Save Yourself*  
  
  
  
  
A week later...  
  
"So, you're going on a date with Cassandra tonight, huh?" Angel's voice broke through Bryan's thoughts.  
  
"Yeah," he responded. He'd just gotten out of the shower, and was standing before the mirror. He'd already put his pants on, and was now donning his shirt. They were nice pants, khaki. The shirt was a deep, emerald green, a dress shirt with nice-looking buttons down the front. Angel had picked the outfit out herself, and she was proud of it. She had a simple but extremely elegant fashion sense, and both of them benefitted.  
  
She sat next to him on the bed as he pulled on the socks, then the saddle-brown dress shoes. He wondered why she was being so attentive. Almost huggy, which was definitely not a typical Angel mood.  
  
"What are you doing tonight?" he asked, to break the uncharacteristic silence.  
  
"Probably just gonna go mess around." Her tone almost seemed bored, but Bryan knew her better than that. Something was bothering her.  
  
He didn't ask though. One of Angel's mottos was "Don't ask, don't tell." He wouldn't get anything out of her unless she wanted to say something.  
  
There was another long silence. Fully clothed, Bryan walked to the nightstand to pick up his wallet and keys. When he looked back at his sister, she was staring at the floor, with a rather despondent look on her face. On an impulse, he knelt down on the floor and stared into her eyes. "Angel, what's wrong?"  
  
She stared passively at him for a full five seconds. "Are you gonna sleep with her tonight?" she asked simply, without batting an eye.  
  
Bryan rocked back to sit on his feet. "What the hell kind of question is that, Angel?"  
  
"Just answer me."  
  
Bryan paused for a long moment. "I might. Why?"  
  
Her tone was flat. "Then I definitely don't want to be here tonight."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Oh, please! You think I'd get any sleep at all with that racket going on in the room below mine?"  
  
They stared at each other for a moment, unblinking, before Bryan burst out laughing. It was a long, hearty laugh, and soon Angel was laughing, too. They were forced to quit a few minutes later, with aching sides and tearstained faces.  
  
"Damn," Bryan muttered when he had control of himself. "I haven't had a laugh like that in a long time." A more sobering thought hit him. "In fact," he said almost to himself, "I can't remember the last time I laughed, period."  
  
Still on his knees, he looked up to see Angel staring at him. She'd heard every word, and from the look on her face he correctly guessed that that had been her goal the entire time. A slow grin spread over her face. "Racket," she muttered, almost too quietly to hear, but he did hear, and it set them both off again.  
  
  
  
After Bryan had left, she moped around the house for a while. She fed the dog, did the dishes, folded the laundry, etc. Still doing all the things she'd been doing before Kenji died, but at least now she didn't have some nasal-toned whinebag breathing down her neck.  
  
Thinking about Bryan pairing up disturbed her, though she couldn't figure out why, at first. Then it hit her. She'd felt so alone when Kenji was alive, because it seemed like nobody cared about her. When Bryan came and Kenji died, a sort of bond had developed between the silver-haired siblings. She'd started to get close to him, and now here he was going out with somebody else. Feelings of loneliness attacked with a vengance, and she ruthlessly banished them from her mind. They were selfish feelings, she reasoned, and she didn't need them. Bryan wasn't going to abandon her for some... chick.  
  
But the feelings persisted. She suddenly realized that she'd forgotten to do something before her brother left: diminish their mind-link. With Angel's empathic ability, it was possible to diminish a link she had with someone, particularly if they were going to do something like, say, have sex? She didn't exactly want to be privy to that sort of emotion running through her brother's mind. That would simply be disgusting. Nonetheless, she was stuck. She sighed, and glumly realized that it would be a long night.  
  
  
  
Dinner was at a semi-fancy Italian restaurant. Sitting with Cassandra in a charming table for two, Bryan attracted more than his share of stares. How often was it that one saw a gorgeous woman having dinner with a pale, tattooed, battle-scarred man? Just like at the bar, he returned each and every stare until the person looked away. He was determined to enjoy this evening.  
  
Talk was somewhat strained. He didn't like talking about his past, and she was uncommunicative about her job. She wasn't a hooker, he could tell. She didn't have that hooker attitude that he was so familiar with. That would almost have made things easier, as he was itching to get more personal with her. Thus, the subject centered around Angel, of all people. It was nearly the only thing he had in common with her, so it would have to do.  
  
When dinner was finally over, he walked her to his shiny black Dodge Ram. The next order of business was a movie. Some chick flick that she obviously enjoyed. Bryan was in hell. They sat near the back, and he put on a smooth "move" as he yawned, stretched, and put one arm around her like a high-school playa. She smiled at his maneuver, and leaned closer to him. His skin was still chill to the touch, but his lips were oh-so-warm and soft as he skillfully kissed her into submission in that theater.  
  
  
  
Back at home, Angel frowned at the rush of sexually-charged thoughts parading through her brother's mind. Desperately she tried to diminish the link, but she couldn't. She needed physical contact in order to do that. Besides, she couldn't concentrate, not with THAT going through her head.  
  
She needed a walk. No, she needed a drink. She couldn't drink, though, and she'd only walked a few minutes when her brother's sexuality nearly knocked her over. God, he was making out with her, and she was letting him touch her breasts. Angel shuddered at the thought of ANYONE, let alone her brother, doing that to her, and she nearly vomited. She turned around and walked home.  
  
She instead drove to the theater. Bryan's movie was almost done, but she chose some crappy war movie, and sat in the very back row, alone, where she could writhe in quiet disgust as Bryan slowly dominated his date. All he wanted was sex, she thought miserably. And Cassandra's mind said she was more than willing to fulfill that request. Odd that she could feel Cassandra's mind so well, Angel thought in a brief moment of clarity. Must be her physical contact with Bryan. And lots of contact, too.  
  
  
  
In the movie parking lot, Bryan failed to spot Angel's car. Instead, he led her to his truck. "Where do you live?" he asked, his voice husky.  
  
"You know what?" Cassandra purred. "How about we go to your place? I'm sick of mine." When Bryan seated himself in the driver's seat, she smiled devilishly and placed her hand gently in his lap as he drove.  
  
  
  
For the next hour, Angel writhed in mental anguish as her brother and Cassandra happily screwed. Her own disgust was at war with the pleasure parading through Bryan's head, and she again cursed that twice-damned link.  
  
Uh-oh. In her distress, Angel forgot to shield her mind, and was inavertently broadcasting her brother's pleasure. The only other occupant in the back row, a young blond man with a Hawaiian shirt and baggy red shorts, was looking at her with a gleam in his eyes, and one hand straying continually toward those shorts. She cringed, and did her best to shield from that oncoming hurricane of emotion. The blond man's lust waned, and he lost interest, thank God.  
  
Finally Bryan and Cassandra were spent, and Angel's mind echoed almost painfully at the sudden emptiness as the two drifted to sleep. As the end credits rolled and the lights came on, Angel stood and prepared to leave, when the blond man grabbed her arm. He was drunk, and her keen nose was assaulted with the rank smell of alcohol. "Name's Steve," he slurred. "Wanna go back to my place?"  
  
Angel easily twisted free of his grasp, her eyes noting the almost horrifying scar on his right arm. "No thanks."  
  
"Your loss," he said, and pitched frighteningly to and fro before collapsing back into his seat. Angel shook her head and left.  
  
She needed a walk. Now that her rampant brother was asleep, she might acutally be able to think this time. Leaving her car in the parking lot, she strolled aimlessly along the sidewalks of the downtown area. She was nearing Jerry's when she felt the presences in her mind. Lots of them. Incredibly hostile, and coming her way. For a moment, she thought to turn around, but most of them were now between her and the movie theater. She strode to the empty lot behind Jerry's, and waited.  
  
First two figures emerged. Then five, then ten, then thirteen. Seventeen people total made a loose ring around her. All male, all young. The Green Breakers, in their entirity. All wielding bats, knives, and brass knuckles. Into the center of the circle stepped Derrick, the Breaker leader, himself wielding a wooden baseball bat with barbed wire wrapped around it.  
  
Angel stared at him stonily, her trenchcoat fluttering gently with the night breeze, revealing the two knives strapped to both thighs. She made a quick movement, and Jerry's birthday knife appeared in her right hand, and an equally deadly-looking long knife that had been her birthday present from Bryan in her left.  
  
Not a word was spoken. This would be a fight to the death, they all knew. Derrick was tired of being beaten by this freak. Now, he would end it all.  
  
Seventeen young men armed with bats, knives, and brass knuckles. All of them intent on destroying the young woman in their midst, armed only with a pair of knives.  
  
In Angel's eyes, the odds were just about even. 


	14. The Attack

...Seventeen young men armed with bats, knives, and brass knuckles. All of them intent on destroying the young woman in their midst, who was armed only with a pair of knives.  
  
In Angel's eyes, the odds seemed just about even.  
  
  
  
*You call me strong, you call me weak  
And still your secrets I will keep  
You took for granted all the times  
I never let you down  
  
You stumbled again, and bumped your head  
If not for me, then you'd be dead  
I picked you up, and put you  
Back on solid ground  
  
If I go crazy, then  
Will you still call me Superman?  
If I'm alive and well,  
Will you be there, holding my hand?  
I'll keep you by my side   
With my super-human might, Kryptonite*  
  
*3 Doors Down - Kryptonite*  
  
  
  
"Hey, Jerry, there's a gangfight going on behind your bar," one of the patrons informed the bartender as he walked in.  
  
"Again? Hasn't been one in a while, ever since Angel came." Jerry said, slightly puzzled as he reached for the phone, to dial 911.  
  
"That's the funny thing. See, she's right in the middle of it."  
  
"WHAT?" Immediately Jerry hung up the phone, and dashed outside, around to the back of the bar, where he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him.  
  
At least a dozen young men stood in a loose circle, throwing taunts and curses to the brawl in their midst. Two toughs lay on the ground, motionless. Three more youths, one with a baseball bat and two with knives, were attempting to beat the daylights out of the quicksilver whirlwind before them.  
  
Attempting, and failing, as Angel became a well-armed tornado let loose among them. Those deadly blades in her hands dealt slash after slash, felling her opponents. No matter how skilled she was at unarmed combat, no matter how well she could fight with any number of weapons, never was Angel more at her fighting best then when she was armed with a pair of knives. Just like now.  
  
So skilled was she with the short blades that she could fight with either blade-up or blade-down, referring to how she gripped the knife. Blade-up was the term for the traditional knife grip, holding the blade tip-up and usually pointed at your opponent. Blade-down was when you held your knife with the point toward your feet, like a huge metal claw. Blade-down strikes were usually slashes, and backhand stabs. Angel was even skilled enough to switch easily between blade-up and blade-down, without ever losing her hold on her weapon, a skill almost beyond normal human abilities. But Angel was no normal human.  
  
Jerry's kunai was blade-down in her right hand, Bryan's long knife blade-up in her left, as she skillfully slashed, stabbed, darted, and flicked those deadly blades into soft body after soft body, as a group of five foolish young men rushed at her at once. Her left hand flicked out, fatally stabbing two of them. Her right made a wide sweep, cutting the throat of a third and whipping back to jam between the ribs of a fourth. A slice from both blades silenced the fifth.  
  
Not only was she using the knives, but also her legs to kick and trip her antagonists as they came at her. This was almost too easy, as she dispatched three more targets. She'd lost count of how many had fallen. Hell, she wasn't even thinking. Her mind had somehow shifted into a 'battle mode,' all mental abilities directed at anticipating her opponents' next movements and her body acting on finely-tuned instinct to react to those next movements. None of the gang members even got close to her.  
  
The last seven or eight changed tactics. Instead of rushing her in such small groups, they all charged forward at once. Angel suddenly went on the defensive, raising her blades to absorb most of the knife slashes on her arms, protecting her chest and head. Now Angel's blood began to flow freely, mixing with that of the dead and dying that were slowly getting trampled beneath her feet. She whirled and spun some more, and four backed up, leaving the next three dead to lay on the ground.  
  
One of the four survivors was Derrick, who exchanged a signal with his thugs. They nodded, and rushed her. In perfect coordination, three baseball bats were raised over their heads and brought down with numbing precision. Angel was forced to absorb the shock on her left arm, shouting in pain even as she leaped forward and gutted them with her right.  
  
Now it was just her and Derrick. In shock, she realized that those three had been instructed to simply distract her, while Derrick--  
  
--pulled out a small handgun. Ten feet was the distance between them, much too far for Angel to do anything immediatley. For the moment, Derrick was in control.  
  
"You know, Angel, you never should have come here," he said smugly, the firearm in his hand giving him a huge ego boost.  
  
"You're telling me," Angel replied, staring into his eyes and reading his next move.  
  
"I was really starting to get pissed off at you," he continued.  
  
"Been there, done that."  
  
He laughed. "You know, we really got off on the wrong foot. I should have won that first fight. You should be kneeling at my feet, begging me to finish you off. I can tell that's not going to happen, but at least I'll win." He smiled dangerously, and tensed his arm muscles. "Now it's time to say goodbye."  
  
The split second before he squeezed the trigger, Angel leaped sideways, then dropping to the ground and letting her momentum bring her into a forward roll that brought her to her feet about a yard from Derrick, who hadn't even been able to fire a second round. Now she was in his face, and elbowed him viciously in his once-broken nose. He spun and fell, even as another shot rang out that missed Angel's head by millimeters.  
  
  
  
This was almost more than Jerry could stand. "Angel, I'm coming!" he shouted, completely unarmed and rushing forward.  
  
  
  
The shout distracted her, and she spun on her heel to face her oncoming friend. "No, Jerry, stay back! It's dangerous!"  
  
Too late. Derrick had only fallen to one knee, and raised the gun. In slow motion, the muzzle flashed and the shot rang out. Angel gasped, as an incredible pain ripped through her back. And again, and again.  
  
  
  
Still in that agonizing slow motion, Jerry halted in his tracks and watched horrified as Angel slowly sank to one knee, her eyes wide with pain and shock. The knife in her left hand fell to the ground, even as her grip tightened around the kunai still in her right.  
  
Even at that distance, even as his shout died on his lips, Jerry could have sworn on a stack of Bibles that he saw Angel's eyes turn blood red. Her brows came together, in a look of anger that was was terrifyingly similar to her brother's fighting glare. Slowly she turned her head and upper body toward Derrick, who was frozen in shock. She rose to a standing position, albiet with shaky legs and a stooped posture. Slowly, ever so slowly, she took a step forward. Then another.   
  
Sitting on his ass, Derrick's eyes grew wide with fear, and he began to scoot backward, even as he fired anther shot at her chest. It didn't slow her a bit. If anything, she sped up, then rushed forward and buried the knife in his skull. His scream was high-pitched and distorted, his limbs twitching in horrifying spasms.  
  
Then it was over. Derrick's still-twitching body fell backward, the knife still clutched in her hand. Jerry hadn't even realized that he was running, but suddenly he was right next to her as she fell into his arms. He heard her mutter "Get help... damned... fool." As he began to carry her awkwardly back to the bar, she managed to thrust her cell phone into his hand. "Make the cops... call Bryan."  
  
Then her eyes fogged over and the yawning black pit in her mind surged forward and enveloped her completely. 


	15. Fallen Angel

The phone was ringing. It pulled Bryan out of the comforting black hole of sleep, and brought him back to reality. The phone was ringing. Slowly he opened his eyes, basking in the warmth of his blankets. The phone was ringing. He lay in a tangle of arms and legs, and he realized that not all of the arms and legs were his. The phone was ringing. His eyes fixed on Cassandra, and he smiled slowly as he remembered what had transpired the night before. The phone was ringing.  
  
He glanced at the clock. Three goddamn o'clock in the morning! Irritated, Bryan stretched an arm out towards the reciever on the bedside stand, being careful not to upset his bedmate. He picked it up. "Yeah?"  
  
"Excuse me, sir, is your name Bryan?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Do you have a younger sister, sir? Tall, white hair, kinda purple-ish eyes?"  
  
He was wide awake now. "Angel? Yeah. Who is this?"  
  
"This is Officer Jarod Greene. I'm sorry to tell you, sir, but your younger sister has been involved in a shootout about half an hour ago. She's on her way to the hospital now."  
  
Bryan sat bolt upright on the bed, dislodging Cassandra's arms around him, as well as a sleepy moan from her throat. He ignored her. "Is she hurt bad?"  
  
The voice hesitated. "Yes, sir. She may not make it."  
  
"Jesus... which hospital?"  
  
"St. Mary's."  
  
"...thank you. I'm on my way." He replaced the reciever on the stand and catapaulted out of bed, which promptly woke Cassandra.  
  
"Mmm... Bryan? What's going on?"  
  
"Angel's been in some kind of accident. She's on her way to the hospital, and I'm gonna meet her there." He rummaged through his dresser for the necessary clothing, as Cassandra sat up and wrapped herself in his sheets.  
  
"Which hospital is it?"  
  
"The cop said it was St. Mary's."  
  
Cassandra climbed out of the bed and began putting clothes on. Bryan looked over. "Where do you think you're going?"  
  
"I'm going with you."  
  
"Why?"  
  
She looked him full in the eye. "I'm an ER surgeon at St. Mary's. My specialty is trauma."  
  
"What are the odds," he muttered as they dressed quickly in the pre-dawn chill.  
  
They drove separate cars to the hospital, since Cassandra was going to go on call in an hour, anyway. White lab coat and blond hair flying, Cassandra marched Bryan through the ER doors and towards the ambulance entrance. They were just in time, and it was Bryan that spotted the bloody, silver-haired form on the stretcher rolling towards one of the operating rooms. "ANGEL!!!" he roared, and shoved through several people to reach her.  
  
"Excuse me, sir, but you'll have to stay back-" one of the EMTs tried to say, but Bryan bodily shoved him out of the way, and planted himself next to Angel's head.  
  
The EMT waved his hands in frustration, until Cassandra put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, Frank. They're family."  
  
"Yes, Dr. Harrelson."  
  
Cassandra's tone was clipped and professional as she gathered the necessary details and vital signs from the EMTs. Bryan ignored all of it, his eyes never leaving Angel's face.  
  
She was a mess. Her clothing was too bloody to tell where the wounds were. Her gleaming silver hair was filthy, and had streaks of bright red in it. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. Too shallow for his liking. His eyes examined her, and with some shock he noticed her birthday knife from Jerry clutched in her right hand. It, too, was covered in blood. It had probably saved her life, he thought, and with some effort he pried it loose from her fingers. This action brought her awake, and her eyes flew open to fix on his.  
  
"Bryan," she murmured. Her voice was faint, and Bryan had to lean in close to catch her words.  
  
"Angel, what happened?"  
  
"...Breakers..."  
  
"The Breakers did this to you?" His voice took on a low, angry note as she nodded weakly. "I'm gonna kill those bastards."  
  
"You can't..." she murmured. "They're all dead."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"It's true, sir." At this new voice, Bryan raised his head to fix his eyes on the speaker. A tall, raven-haired cop with unnaturally bright green eyes.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" Bryan growled.  
  
"Officer Jarod Greene. I believe we spoke on your sister Angel's cell phone." He handed the phone to Bryan.  
  
"I'm her brother, Bryan Fury. What the hell is going on?" He paused, and let go of the stretcher. Instantly Angel's free hand shot out and wrapped around her brother's arm.  
  
"Don't leave me alone," she pleaded weakly.  
  
"I won't," he promised. To Officer Greene he tossed a "Later!" before disappearing through the double doors of the operating room.  
  
Bryan stood next to Angel's head. The anesthesiologist attempted to put a breathing mask on Angel, but the wounded girl batted it away. "No drugs..." she murmured. Her left hand gripped the metal rim of the gurney, while her right clutched her brother's hand.  
  
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we have to sedate you before we can start operating," the techie tried to reason with her.  
  
Angel shook her head weakly. "If I go to sleep now," she wheezed, "I won't wake up."  
  
Bryan was startled at this omission. "Jesus Christ," he muttered in shock. It was only her iron determination that kept her breathing.  
  
The surgery was agonizingly slow, as the doctors searched for, found, and patched each and every hole and scratch on Angel's battered body. For every hole, a new one seemed to pop up out of nowhere. More blood was lost, more doctors were called in. Through it all, Angel continued to physically keep herself alive, as Bryan whispered reassuring thoughts in her ear.  
  
Every once in a while, an image would flash into Bryan's mind. Angel's memories of the attack. He was shocked at the detail paid to all the blood and gore. Every once in a while, images would fit together in such a way that they would almost seem to be words. His face, a few events, her face, more events. She was talking to him with her mind, calling images and emotions to the forefront of his mind and letting him translate them as best he could. She was telling him where she hurt most, and Bryan would point out these spots to Cassandra, who stood immediately to his right.  
  
The chief surgeon was finally called in, out of a triple-bypass upstairs. He took one look at the bloody form on the table and shouted "Jesus Christ! How the hell is this kid still breathing?!" Angel didn't answer; she was too busy concentrating on that very act.  
  
It was a half-hour later that Bryan felt the slight intrusion on his consciousness. It was Angel, speaking to him psychically. It was an image that looked like him. She was calling him. Bryan, the thought murmured, I won't make it like this. I have to heal myself. It took him a while to translate this.  
  
Bryan projected an air of curiosity, puzzlement, and worry.  
  
She tried a new tactic, and plastered words in his mind, like he was reading print off a piece of paper. It worked much better that way. I can go into a state of suspended animation. I can heal myself better from there, but it requires that I lose conscious control of everything.  
  
No! It's too risky!  
  
It's a risk I have to take.  
  
Angel, no!  
  
Bryan... I love you.  
  
"Angel," Bryan murmured aloud. "Angel, no!"  
  
By his side, Cassandra looked sharply at him. "Bryan, what is it?" Before he could answer, the heart monitor's sirens came on as Angel's heartbeat slowed. "We're losing her!" Cassandra shouted, her attention back on her patient.  
  
Bryan could only stare into Angel's face, at the closed eyes. She was doing that on purpose, he thought. Suspended animation. Everything in her body had to slow to a near-complete stop. I hope you know what you're doing, Angel, he thought blindly at her, because I sure as hell don't.  
  
For the next ten minutes, the doctors worked even faster than before. Little did they know that their patient was not merely unconscious, but was helping them do their job. She was forcing her own blood to clot faster around holes. She was forcing her own lungs to take in as much oxygen as possible, from the breathing mask they'd put on her face. She was forcing her heart to beat at a steadily slower rhythm. A machine was best repaired when it wasn't moving, same as the human body.  
  
She had receded deep inside her own mind. No longer was her body on autopilot; she was controlling it manually, like a puppeteer. She had to consciously tell her heart to beat, her lungs to expand and contract, her digestive tract to continue working. It was working, she could feel, but it was also horribly taxing on her psyche. She should be dead, she reasoned within herself. Behind her, she could feel the yawning black pit, wanting to take her in. She ignored it as best she could. She was actually refusing to die.  
  
Then, everyone felt it. The doctors were done! Angel was healed! All the holes were patched, the cuts were closed. Everything was okay. But it wasn't. Angel's vital signs were still dangerously low.  
  
Cassandra looked worried. "Why isn't she stablizing? Why isn't she coming back around? She should be awake by now!"  
  
Only Bryan knew the answer. Wake up, Angel, he thought blindly at his sister's mind. Wake up! They're done! No response. Angel?  
  
The reply was incredibly faint. So... tired... Her mind was exhausted. Consciously controlling her own body had taken more from her than she was able to give. She could feel herself slipping into that black pit. I'm so tired... she thought at her brother. Let me sleep...  
  
ANGEL, NO!!! her brother's mind screamed. You can't sleep! You'll die!  
  
"Bryan, what's wrong?" Cassandra noticed the tension on her lover's face.  
  
"She's tired. She's dying!" Bryan was starting to panic. "Cassandra, you have to wake her up!"  
  
Cassandra seemed to understand. She grabbed a bag of adrenaline from a shelf in the OR and jammed an IV into Angel's arm. The entire staff, plus Bryan, waited with bated breath. No response. The heart monitor flatlined, and Angel's lungs stilled.  
  
At a signal from the chief surgeon, the operating team tried CPR. No response. They fired up the electric paddles, and shocked her a few times. Nothing. Nothing was working!  
  
The heart monitor was screaming that Angel's heart had stopped. So was Bryan's mind.  
  
"Bryan," Cassandra murmured. "There's nothing else we can do."  
  
"But there must be-"  
  
"No, Bryan. It's over." Her voice was quiet, but strong. She'd dealt with death before. So had he, in a much more real fashion, but this was different. He actually cared about this person, and now she was gone. His shoulders slumped in defeat. He stared at the broken, lifeless body of his sister, and backed away. Cassandra put a gentle hand on his arm, and stared deeply into his eyes. Both pairs of eyes burned with unshed tears, before Cassandra lowered her gaze.  
  
Sympathy apparent in her face, Cassandra raised her watch. "Time of death, 4-"  
  
Beep.  
  
Everyone froze, and stared at the heart monitor.  
  
Beep.  
  
Cassandra frowned. "Jim, I thought you turned that off."  
  
"I turned the alarm off. It must still be on," the techie replied, confusion evident on his face.  
  
Beep.  
  
Bryan could hardly dare to even hope. Could Angel still be alive? Cautiously he moved to her head.  
  
Beep.  
  
Suddenly, so suddenly that it startled everyone, Angel's chest heaved as she inhaled, the breath of life itself. Then she exhaled, just as heavily, before her breathing returned to a normal rhythm. Her heart was beating properly, too.  
  
Then her eyes flew open, so quickly that Bryan jumped. Then he stared. Her normally lavendar eyes now glowed a bright, angry red. It was almost demonic looking. The eyes stared at the ceiling for the longest time, not blinking. Then the light faded, and they were the normal color once again. The eyes blinked, and moved to look at Bryan.  
  
Without saying a word, Angel reached a bloody hand up to remove the breathing mask from her face. The other grasped her brother's forearm reassuringly.  
  
By this time, the entire operating team had moved back to their places, and began checking Angel out. The holes were still patched, the cuts still closed. Her vitals were normal, and strong. She was fine.  
  
She was weak, and battered, and bruised, but alive. How in the world was Angel alive? She was rightfully dead, she had died right then. But now, here she was, alive again. How? Cassandra's mind reeled from confusion.  
  
Bryan simply leaned forward and gripped Angel in a crushing bearhug. She returned it, with less strength than usual, but that was understandable. Visibly drained, she flopped back onto her bloody gurney and stared at the ceiling. "Damn, I'm tired," she muttered.  
  
Cassandra was still shaken, but managed a reply. "I think we'll keep you overnight, just for observation. I don't forsee any complications, so if all goes well, you'll be released tomorrow." This was said as the gurney was wheeled out into the hallway.  
  
"Into my custody," said a familiar voice. Bryan and Angel looked up to see Officer Greene standing in the hallway.  
  
"What for?" Angel asked.  
  
"What for?" he echoed. "Ma'am, you just killed seventeen people."  
  
Her eyes widened, stunned. Her mouth formed a little O as she stared incredulously at him. "You can't be serious."  
  
"I am," he said sternly. "Seventeen dead, at your hands."  
  
"But it was self-defense," she started, when Bryan laid a heavy hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Not now, Angel," he said calmly. Then he fixed the cop with his unnerving stare. "We're not gonna discuss this now. Angel's gonna go upstairs to sleep for the next few hours, while you and I have a little talk." With his bare hand on her bare arm, she had no trouble deducing his thoughts.  
  
He was genuinely worried about her, but still determined to be his hardass self. She patted his hand, and shooed him away. "You boys play nice, now, you hear me?" she said jokingly, after imparting caution into his mind. Her brother nodded, indicating that he understood, and followed the cop to the lounge.  
  
Angel lay back, sighed, and fell almost immediately fell into a deep sleep. 


	16. Secrets

Angel lay on the hospital bed asleep. The room was dark and quiet. She was dressed in one of those paper-thin hospital gown, her clothing in a plastic bag next to the bed. Cassandra was in Angel's room, adjusting IVs and checking the monitors. There was really no need; for some reason, Angel's body rejected everything they put in it. Blood samples revealed numerous unknown particles floating in the young girl's bloodstream. There were red blood cells, white blood cells, cells of an odd, clear color, and microscopic particles that the experts couldn't even begin to identify. There was also the matter of the odd glands just behind Angel's eyes. Those, and a few other things. One question kept running through Cassandra's mind: Angel, what are you?  
  
Cassandra was absently staring at the girl's closed eyes when they flew open. Angel sat up quickly and gasped, as if having been awoken from a nightmare. Then she flopped back down on the bed, draped an arm over her eyes, and sighed. Cassandra had nearly had a heart attack at this sudden awakening, and moved cautiously to the bed. "Angel? Are you alright?"  
  
Angel didn't move. "It's 5:30."  
  
Surprised, the older woman checked her watch, and found that Angel was correct. "Why, yes it is. How did you know that?"  
  
Angel groaned. "Biological clock. I wake up at 5:30 every morning. No matter what time I go to bed, no matter how much sleep I've had, rain or shine, I wake up at 5:30." She sighed. "Apparently even near-death experiences aren't enough to shake that."  
  
"How long have you experienced this?"  
  
"For as long as I can remember," Angel groaned. Then she opened one eye and grinned. "And may I remind you, that's not very long."  
  
Cassandra smiled in spite of herself. Then Angel slowly sat up. "Where's Bryan?"  
  
The smile disappeared. "He's talking to that police officer."  
  
Angel flopped back down again, and groaned for the umpteenth time. Then she sat up again, and fixed the older woman with a piercing look. "Is it true? Did I really kill seventeen people?"  
  
Cassandra hesitated. "Yes."  
  
The harsh look turned to horror, and Angel stared down at her heavily scarred arms. "What the hell am I?" Cassandra heard the girl moan.  
  
"I was just wondering the same thing." The words were out of the blond woman's mouth before she could stop them. A heavy silence descended. "I'm sorry," Cassandra said quietly.  
  
"Don't worry about it. I get that a lot." Angel said quickly, and looked back down at her arms. With some surprise, she noted that her left wrist was in a cast. Ah yes, those three baseball bats at the same time. She'd blocked with her left wrist, which had shattered. There was also the numerous wide, open scars forming on her wrists. Scars as long, as wide, as ugly as the one on her brother's face. Then she saw her left bicep. "Oh, shit."  
  
"What?"  
  
"My tattoo." Cassandra moved to Angel's left side, and saw a long, jagged streak running horizontally through the lower half of it. It had healed crooked, and now the design did not line up at all.  
  
"My husband is a plastic surgeon--" Again, the words were out before she could stop them.  
  
Angel's gaze snapped around to stare deep into the older woman's eyes. "Your husband?"  
  
Cassandra's lower lip trembled. "Angel, I--"  
  
"Your husband?" Angel repeated, in a harsh tone. Her eyes bored holes into Cassandra's. "You're married?"  
  
Tears glinted in the older woman's eyes. "I... yes, my husband. I'm married."  
  
Angel's look got even darker, if that were possible. "So you're having an affair with my brother behind your husband's back? And he doesn't know you're married?" Cassandra nodded slowly. Angel slowly moved off the bed, and stood. "Jesus fucking Christ, Cassandra. What the hell is wrong with you?" Angel's fists clenched, as did her jaw.  
  
Cassandra was about to fear for her life, when the door opened behind her. It was Bryan. "Angel? You alright?"  
  
Angel needed to finish this discussion. "Just a sec, Bryan. Now, as I was saying, Cassandra, my period's been kinda irregular lately--"  
  
Bryan gave a muffled yelp and backed into the hall, shutting the door quickly. A faint smile appeared on Cassandra's face, but it disappeared when she turned back to Angel. Angel wasn't smiling at all. In fact, Angel looked quite dangerous at the moment.  
  
Cassandra moaned and buried her face in her hands, and plopped down into the chair next to Angel's bed. Angel lost none of her stern demeanor, and planted herself in front of that chair with her fists clenched at her sides.  
  
"I'm sorry, Angel," Cassandra murmured through her hands.  
  
"I'm not the one you should be saying that to." Angel snapped.  
  
"I... it's not a happy marriage, Angel. We got married because we were ambitious, headstrong people with similar career ideas." She took a deep breath. "He's been having affairs for the last three years. I know about them, too. In fact, his current one is a good friend of mine. We share him." She looked up into Angel's disbelieving face, and quickly looked down again. "We fight so often... I've been having affairs off and on again for almost a year now." She blinked away tears. "I really, really like Bryan--"  
  
"Then can you imagine what it'll do to him when he finds out?" Angel's eyes seemed to throw sparks. "He really likes you, too. A lot. In fact..." here her voice took such a tone that every word burned into the poor woman's ears and mind, "In fact, he was talking just the other day about how he likes you more than he's ever liked anyone else."  
  
Cassandra nearly burst into tears. "He won't give me a divorce. He refuses. Says it'll ruin both our careers if we do."  
  
Angel's gaze softened somewhat. "So you're a trophy wife."  
  
The older woman nodded.  
  
Angel sighed, and sat down on her bed. "So, when are you going to tell him?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"You need to. And soon. He wanted to stop by a jewelry store the other day. Can you imagine what would happen if, by some fluke, he proposed to you, and you were already married?" When there was no answer, Angel reluctantly stood. "Be right back."  
  
Cassandra's hand shot out and grasped Angel's arm. "Please don't! Not yet! I... it should come from me."  
  
Angel considered. "Fine. You will tell him, and soon, or else."  
  
"Or else what?" Cassandra asked a bit snippily.  
  
Angel stared the older woman down. "Or else I WON'T tell him." That said, she went to the door to let her brother and the cop into the room.  
  
Cassandra thought for a moment. Now, why did that threat strike her as being so ominous?  
  
  
  
Angel lay in the bed, slightly drained from her encounter with Cassandra, who was now doing her job back down in the ER. Bryan sat in the chair next to Angel's bed, and the Officer Greene stood at the foot of the bed, with a little notepad.  
  
Greene had been talking for a little over an hour with this girl, and he felt that his job was getting more difficult by the minute. For one thing, she was either angrily dismissive about her ignorance of her past, or painfully sarcastic about the present, depending on the questions he asked.  
  
He sighed, as he asked yet another question that she felt warranted a burst of sarcasm. "Now, Miss Leah, you were given two knives for your birthday, correct?"  
  
"Yes, Officer, two knives. Jerry Lewis, my only friend until my brother came along, gave me one, which is now in the possession of said brother, who also gave me one. I have no idea where that one is."  
  
He sighed. "It's right here," he said quietly. He reached into his policeman's jacket and pulled out the blood-covered knife, in an evidence bag. Wordlessly he handed it to the figure on the bed. "Keep it."  
  
Angel sensed something going on. "What are you doing, Greene? You shouldn't be giving this back to me."  
  
"I know." He sat on the end of the bed. "Angel, I've kept an eye on you ever since you got here. To my knowledge, you have never, ever provoked a fight, especially one of this magnitude. And I'm pretty sure you didn't provoke this one. However, there's gonna be a lot of people who will want to put you away, for life. Some may even say that you deserve to die."  
  
"I've often said the same thing," she said bitterly. "Did Jerry tell you that I've already attempted suicide?"  
  
The cop blinked. "No, he didn't. The point is, Angel, that I feel some pity for you. You don't know where you came from, or how you came to be so skilled with all this stuff, and you were put in the worst possible place to have those skills. I don't fault you for it."  
  
Angel was speechless. Bryan wasn't. "What the hell are you doing, Officer?" he growled.  
  
"I'm giving you another chance." He said quietly. "Angel, you're a senior in high school, correct?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"And how much longer until you graduate?"  
  
She was puzzled. "A month and a half. Why?"  
  
"All right. There's so much blood over at that crime scene that it's going to be impossible to tell which samples belong to which bodies. The only people who can testify to you being there are Mr. Lewis, one bar patron, and you, of course. I've already talked to the other two, and they agree with me." He sighed. "Angel, I'm not going to turn you in. It may cost me my job, but it feels right. I am, however, going to give you an ultimatum. As soon as you finish high school, you will leave this town. Move somewhere else."  
  
Angel and Bryan could only sit in stunned silence. Then Angel nodded. "Deal. We'll leave as soon as I graduate." Shakily, she stood, and clasped his hand. "I will never forget this... Jarod."  
  
The raven-haired cop smiled. "I know. Neither will I." He turned to leave. "Now get some rest. Go home as soon as you can. The longer you lay here with a pair of knives, as well as multiple lacerations, the bigger the chance of somebody turning you in."  
  
"Yes, sir!" Angel said with a mock salute. Her friend returned it, and smiled as he left.  
  
"Is he telling the truth?" Bryan asked as soon as the cop had left.  
  
"He's as sincere as can be," She answered confidently. "I think he genuinely feels sorry for me. Though I don't really care for people feeling sorry for me, I suppose it comes in handy. And I will repay this favor someday." She turned to look at him. "In the meantime, I think I will heed his advice, and go home."  
  
Bryan nodded smartly. However, not five steps away from the bed she nearly collapsed, and was forced to lean on him heavily. They moved at this agonizingly slow pace for a while, before Bryan simply picked her up and carried her in his amazingly strong arms. She protested at first, but gradually stopped making noises until, with a start, he realized that she was asleep again. Asleep, in his arms.  
  
He was walking out the front door when he heard the shout. He turned, and Cassadra immediately quieted upon seeing his sleeping burden. She leaned up to give him a quick peck on the lips, careful not to wake the sleeper. "Did you sign her out?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, then... I'll do it. I'll send you the bill, too."  
  
"You do that," he quipped. "Now help me unlock my truck.  
  
Cassandra couldn't keep the smile off her face as she reached into his front pocket for the keys to his truck, taking a deliberatly long time doing so. She unlocked it, and opened the passenger door, allowing him to deposit the incapacitated Angel in the passenger seat. He gave his lover a much longer kiss before climbing into the truck.  
  
As he drove away, Cassandra's guilt assailed her. He really did like her a lot. Did he... did he love her? Did she love him? More things to ponder as she strode regretfully back toward the hospital.  
  
  
  
  
Back at home, Bryan carried the now-awake Angel upstairs to her room. Typical of only-children, she had entire rooms to herself. In fact, this was Angel's private domain. The basement was her dojo, and the upstairs was her sanctuary.  
  
Upstairs was a small room with a large pair of glass double-doors that led onto a balcony. There were four doors, and Angel pointed toward her bedroom. With some difficulty, she turned the knob and he stepped inside the demon's lair.  
  
It was actually quite a spacious room. A double-bed was against one wall, which he immediately laid her on in order to properly take in the scenery about him. A large L-shaped computer desk took up one corner, on which sat a typical home PC, as well as a laptop, and numerous technological parts and cables. Another corner held a desk for homework. Against one wall was a small entertainment center, with a TV, and at least three different gaming systems. A dresser and rather dusty vanity were parked in the middle of another wall. The carpet was a thick, light blue affair, with the walls so pale blue as to be almost white.  
  
One wall was covered with posters of the world's most famous martial artists. He saw posters of Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan, Jet Li, Steven Seagal, even the mighty Paul Phoenix, whom Bryan had almost fought during the last tournament. Another wall was a pegboard, on which were numerous pegs, and more knives than he had ever seen in one place. Decorative knives, combat knives, daggers, swords, even a wicked-looking spear.  
  
Also scattered about the room were candles of various shapes, sizes, colors, and scents. She preferred either Black Cherry or Herbal Garden, but right now she had several Cinnamon candles blazing. There was also a small collection of cigarette lighters, which he looked at greedily.  
  
"Yes, I'm a pyro," Angel said quietly from her spot on the bed.  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A pyro. I'm a pyromaniac. Fire is cool." There was a dorky, almost stoned look on her face. On the last sentence, she did a perfect imitation of Beavis and Butthead.  
  
He shook his head, and held up a fancy-looking lighter. "I collect these."  
  
"Really? You can have those, I prefer to use matches."  
  
Without any argument, he gathered the dozen or so lighters in his large hands. "Thanks."  
  
"No problem," she said quickly. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to fall asleep now." He nodded, and cradling his precious burden, he left quietly and closed the door behind him.  
  
She knew she was shaking her head even as she drifted off to the blessed oblivion of sleep. 


	17. Graduation

*They say freak  
When you're singled out  
The red  
Well, it filters through  
  
So lay down  
The threat is real  
When his sight  
Goes red again*  
  
Seeing red again  
  
This change  
He won't contain  
Slip away  
To clear your mind  
  
When asked  
Who made it show  
The truth  
He gives in to most*  
  
*Chevelle - The Red*  
  
A few days later:  
  
Angel was going back to school.  
  
Recovery was both longer and shorter than expected; longer for Angel, shorter for Bryan. Her main problem was lack of energy, compounded with the uncountable cuts and holes all over her body. With aid from medicines, skin lotions, good eating, and her own incredible regenerative abilities, the wounds quickly faded to wide, horrific scars. The only visible injury, to the public, was her shattered left wrist. It was encased in a plastic cast, thin enough to fit in the sleeves of her new trenchcoat. Her old one had been shredded. She'd taken to wearing a pair of fingerless black gloves with open backs, too, to hide the new scars on her hands. The new gloves just barely covered them.  
  
When she was finally up and about, she'd only missed one day. She'd been attacked on a Friday night, and now she returned to school on a Tuesday. It was the only day of school she'd ever missed, and she presented her broken wrist, saying she'd tripped and fallen on the basement stairs. It was a poor excuse, and reluctantly accepted, and Angel almost failed to convince them.  
  
Back at school, she got a few stares but was otherwise left alone. Business as usual. The news of the attack was all over the school, and the halls buzzed with gossip. A lot of students were of course saying that Angel probably did it. However, and most fortunately, the most popular theory was that there'd been a fight amongst the Breakers, which resulted in the total destruction of the entire gang. Several of the thugs had died from bleeding to death, but it was impossible to tell where one body's blood stopped and another started. Plus, it had rained hours after the attack, washing away most of the evidence.  
  
There was one major change, though. A week before the attack, Jeff Clay had started sitting at her table. Beforehand, he'd just fling a casual hello at her in the hallway, which she rarely returned. Now he was sitting with her at lunch.  
  
She found the reason why he was so interested in her: He was planning to major in psychology when he got to college, which explained his fascination with her rather unorthodox mindset. He was amazed when she informed him that she refused to worry about things beyond her control, as it wasted time and effort. It was a pleasant change to have a decent conversation with someone her age, and they talked about everything, including each other.  
  
He was named after his father, he told her sourly. David Jeffery Clay, Jr, but he went by Jeff. He utterly hated to be called Davey, which she of course called him whenever she thought about it. So used to being alone, it was hard to accept a companion, but companion he was, and that was that. No matter how harsh her tone, how intense her gaze, how brutal her words, he loved to talk to her. Gradually she accepted him as something on the boundaries of a friend, but she wasn't ready to admit it yet.  
  
He cajoled her into giving him her phone number, and called her often with questions about homework, as he lacked the attention span necessary for Geometry. She was in calculus, and having only the slightest difficulty. Both of them wondered what her IQ was. She didn't have the slightest qualms about beating him into the ground during P.E., but she gradually felt sorry for him and gave him some pointers, and with her help he made the baseball team. He persuaded her to join the debate team, which she took by storm and won numerous awards for the school. Except for her appearance, her abilities, and her forgotten past (her entire being, in other words), she was almost normal.  
  
Graduation finally rolled around, which meant that it was almost time for Angel to leave. She hadn't told Jeff she had to leave yet. She still didn't know where to go. Japan would probably be the best for her, but Bryan didn't speak Japanese. He didn't really want to move, anyway. Cassandra was in this town, and dammit, he wanted to stay. Angel had briefly suggested that she just go away by herself, but Bryan wouldn't hear of it.  
  
In his private mind, he still needed Angel to kick Abel's ass for him. Why don't I just do it myself? he asked himself. Simple. If he simply told Abel to repair him, then went to sleep under Abel's surgical implements, there was no telling what Abel might do to him. He needed Angel to watch his back.  
  
One day, while they were at home, the phone rang. Angel was in the kitchen doing something, maybe washing dishes, while Bryan was watching TV in his usual manner. "Can you get that?" Angel called. Bryan sighed, stood, and ambled over to the phone.  
  
"Hello?" He asked, not too politely. It was a good show on TV.  
  
"Mr. Fury?" came the unfamiliar voice. It wasn't that deep, but it was really raspy, like Al Pacino or something.  
  
"Yeah, I'm Bryan Fury. Who is this?"  
  
"That's not important. You and your 'sister' are very important to us. We need to speak with you." The voice was quiet and purposeful, not unlike those old gangster movies. Bryan thought he detected an accent.  
  
Angel walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "Who is that?" she asked, but he waved her away.  
  
"Do you understand, Mr. Fury?" The voice rasped.  
  
"Yeah." He listened as the voice gave the time and place to meet. Yeah, there was a barely-detectable Japanese accent here. Abruptly the connection was severed, leaving Bryan with a bad feeling.  
  
"Who was that?" Angel demanded.  
  
"Nobody." When she started to interrupt, he glared at her. "It was nobody, okay? Just leave it the hell alone."  
  
Visibly disturbed, she went back to the kitchen. Bryan plopped back on the loveseat, his thoughts no longer on the TV. That could only have been a message from one person: Dr. Abel. While it didn't overly worry him, he did feel the smallest sense of dread. Abruptly he realized that the date was the same day as Angel's graduation ceremony, the time just a little after it. He'd sworn up and down that he'd make it to the ceremony, and he'd be damned if he'd miss it.  
  
The night of graduation finally arrived. Bryan was apprehensive about the night's meeting with the mysterious callers, but he did his best not to think about it, knowing that Angel would pick up on it. She pointed out Jeff's parents in the assembled crowd, and hurried off to join the fellow seniors. At the foot of the bleachers, Bryan suffered a small coughing fit before climbing the stairs. When he seated himself next to the trio of Clays, the little girl scooted closer to her father. Bryan gave her an odd look, and settled himself more comfortably on the aluminum risers. She returned the look with one of fear, and he could almost detect a whimper coming from her. Her father was giving him a dirty look.  
  
Abruptly he realized that these people had no idea who he was. He turned to the father, seated between his wife and child, and stuck out his hand. "I don't think we've met. I'm Bryan Fury, Angel's older brother." The entire family relaxed about three hairs. Finally the man introduced himself as David Clay, as well as his wife Loraine, and their daughter Christie. There was a tolerant silence between them the rest of the ceremony. Obviously the Clays were none to happy with Jeff's companionship with Angel. Nor were they impressed with her pale, scarred, tattoed brother with the black T-shirt and fake-snakeskin pants.  
  
The ceremony was long-winded and boring, and Bryan nearly nodded off twice. The highlight was Angel standing next to her friend Jeff, both diplomas held high, both faces plastered with triumphant grins. Angel's greatest hell was over. Now a new one was about to begin.  
  
Angel was sticking around after the ceremony for a little thing called Project Graduation, where the school held a party-like atmosphere, having games and food and such, in an effort to keep the kids from going and doing something stupid on their first night of freedom. The thing lasted until three in the morning, so Bryan quickly bid his younger sister good night.  
  
He drove quickly to the meeting place, in an abandoned lot in the bad part of town. It reminded him eerily of that night so long ago, that night where his life had ended. The clouds in his mind were dark, until an even darker one passed by. Wulong, Bryan thought. His trusted partner had left him for dead. He hadn't even looked back. God, if he ever got his hands on that Mandarin bastard, he'd-  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by a car horn. A black SUV, blending in well with the dingy walls of this grimy part of the city. A man in a business suit with the overcoat unbuttoned stepped out, followed by three similarly dressed "suits." Every one of them was probably packing at least one weapon, probably two. Their features were Japanese. The leader spoke to him, and it was indeed the person who'd spoken to him on the phone. "Mr. Fury?"  
  
Although unarmed, Bryan wasn't the least bit worried. Curious would have been a better word. "Yeah, I'm Bryan Fury. You wanna tell me what this is about?"  
  
"I'll ask the questions, Prototype." At this, Bryan's eyebrows came together. Yeah, this was definitely one of Abel's men. "Your master is back in power, and he wishes his experiment to return to him."  
  
"Which one?" Bryan growled.  
  
"You. The girl is of no consequence. If she will not take orders, she is of no use to my master."  
  
"No consequence?" Bryan sputtered. A long time ago, he had been a detective asking questions, and he remembered how this game was played. Stay cool, and keep on guard. "So what does that leave for her?"  
  
The Japanese man held up a silencing hand. "The girl has called far too much attention to herself. So have you." The brown eyes, seemingly devoid of emotion, locked onto Bryan's. "She will die. You will come with us."  
  
"Like hell I will. How long has that little fucker been watching us?" He was trying to make the other lose his cool, and it was working.  
  
The Japanese glared. "HE has been watching the both of you ever since you left. He had intended you to pair with the girl, to make a formidable fighting force. You have disappointed him."  
  
Bryan managed to keep a poker face as he digested this information. Him and Angel together, to do Abel's bidding? That guy didn't know when to quit. Quietly he slipped on his black gloves as he faced the man. "So who are you supposed to be?"  
  
"That does not matter," the man said coldly. "Your orders are to kill the girl. If you succeed, Dr. Abel will prolong your life."  
  
Bryan's thin mouth stretched into a tight smile. "Why don't you do that yourself? Scared of a little girl?"  
  
The man stiffened. "She is a highly-trained Tekkenshu operative. I am not qualified to face her."  
  
"Coward." Bryan didn't miss a beat. In for a dime, in for a dollar. "So you admit that you'd get your ass kicked by a girl? An AMERICAN TEENAGER, at that?" Honor was everything to these guys, he remembered.  
  
The man lost it. He pointed a thin finger at the American. "You will do as you are told!" He was starting to sweat, feeling the eyes of his men upon him. "You will kill the girl, or we will eliminate you!"  
  
Almost there, thought Bryan. "Then Abel would get pissed at you, and you wouldn't get the privilege of getting fucked by that little gay bastard anymore. Pity poor you."  
  
"Fool!" The man shouted, drawing a pair of handguns out of his overcoat. His subordinates followed suit.  
  
Ha, thought Bryan. I win. He charged forward, and the nameless suits scattered, heading back for the SUV. The speaker turned and ran down the alley, screeching in Japanese into a handheld radio. Bryan followed, though his target was a faster runner.  
  
He rushed down the alley, knocking over a garbage can. Damn, that little asian bastard was fast, he thought, when suddenly the alley was flooded with light. He halted in his tracks, throwing a hand in front of his eyes. He HATED bright light. He heard footsteps, and listened as five figures stepped in front of the light-source and pointed assault rifles at him. Tekkenshu, he thought angrily. The same bastards that killed me the first time. He paused, gathering his anger, before rushing forward.  
  
The Tekkenshu opened fire, but this didn't faze Bryan, who threw his hands protectively in front of his eyes and let his BULLETPROOF chest take the shots. He could almost FEEL the Tekkenshus' disbelief as they squeezed their triggers even harder, trying through sheer will to make the bullets penetrate.  
  
Bryan charged down the alley, much to his enemies' disbelief. Then leaped and rolled to the side as the source of that infernal searchlight was revealed: A tank. A fucking goddamn human tank! At the end of that massive barrel, a small reddish light shone, and grew, and spewed forth a shell the size of his head. It impacted his chest, and he was engulfed in flames, but only for a split second. He shot through the intense heat, and lept atop the mammoth machine. Doing the first thing that came to mind, he wrapped his hands around the barrel and crouched, then heaved upward with his legs and arms. His mouth opened and his back strained with the effort, and his brown dress-shoes were showered with sparks as the head of the tank was lifted clear of its body.  
  
There he was, standing atop the tank with its head in his arms. Hearing shrill cries over his shoulder, he turned to see the Tekkenshu, as well as the man in the suit, scrambling like poor bastards to get as far away from him as possible. What the hell, he thought. He spun in place before releasing his massive weapon, hurling it like a discus, and watched it spin through the air before landing directly on the group, engulfing them in a massive explosion.  
  
He stared at the destruction he had caused for a moment, before he could contain himself no longer. He gathered himself up before letting his long, eerie laugh ring out through the night air. He was invincible! Nothing could stop him!  
  
Still chuckling to himself, he made his way back down the alley, to his truck. It was about 10:00, so if he went home now nobody would miss him. Hell, nobody would miss him anyway.  
  
He'd just walked in and closed the door when a pair of headlights flashed outside. Pulling off his charred, bullet-holed black T-shirt and pulling on yet another black one, he opened the door to reveal Cassandra climbing out of her red Intrepid. She gave him that sultry smile that told him she was ready to play. And play they did, as he led her inside.  
  
When Angel came home at about 2:00 in the morning, she failed to notice Cassandra's car. She didn't feel anything untoward in her mind, either, after she had discreetly dimmed her link with her brother. All she thought about was how tired she was, how great it was to graduate high school, and how much she was going to miss her friend Jeff when she finally moved away.  
  
It was a fragile idyll, and one that would shatter very soon. 


	18. Hurt

*And all your weight  
It falls on me  
It brings me down  
  
And all your weight  
It falls on me  
It falls on me*  
  
*Collective Soul - Heavy*  
  
The day after graduation. What a day, Angel thought upon awakening. Faint traces of sunlight gleamed on the horizon, through her window. She smiled, and dressed quickly in the predawn chill. As was her custom, she walked onto her second-story balcony, and climbed up on the rooftop to greet the sun, as she did nearly every morning. This sunrise was spectacular, painting the sky with red and gold. Simply breathtaking.  
  
When the sun had fully risen, she went back into the house and headed downstairs to let the dog out, and to begin cooking breafast. Pancakes today, warm and fluffy. She made her own pancakes, a guaranteed way to make Bryan happy in the morning.  
  
She was surprised, then, to feel Cassandra's mind-tone register wakefulness at the same time as Bryan. Angel glanced out the front window, spotting Cassandra's red Intrepid next to Bryan's Ram and her own Grand Prix. So, Bryan had had a little romp with his girlfriend while Angel was away. Pleasant thought. At least she'd remembered to dim the link this time. She hadn't felt a thing. Not like the first time. A disgusted thought flitted through her mind as she mixed up another batch of pancake mix.  
  
The pair finally shuffled into the kitchen, Bryan wearing an old, ratty white t-shirt and some sweatpants. Cassandra was wrapped in Bryan's bathrobe. "Morning, sleepyheads!" Angel called cheerfully, determined to be as obscenely energetic as possible. Bryan glared at her, and Cassandra yawned.  
  
"You have no right to have this much energy," Cassandra muttered, seating herself at the table. "You were out even later than we were."  
  
"Yes, but I wasn't engaged in such physical exertion as you were, either," Angel countered jokingly. Cassandra fell silent, a faint pink tinge on her cheeks. Bryan glared again.  
  
The house was one of the few places where Angel would wear short sleeves, and Cassandra started as those heavily scarred arms served her pancakes. "I see you're recovering nicely, Angel," Cassandra said to make conversation.  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Harrelson. I've made an appointment with that plastic surgeon next week, to fix my tattoo." Her tone was lighthearted, but she fixed the older woman with a stern glare. Cassandra had sworn to tell Bryan about her marriage sometime soon, but apparently she hadn't done that yeat. The blond cringed under Angel's intense gaze.  
  
"Hey, what's all this about?" Bryan asked, picking up on the glare but not knowing the reason.  
  
"Unfinished business," Angel stated quickly. "More pancakes?"  
  
Bryan wanted to ask, but Angel's tone gave no room for argument. Inwardly he was shaking his head. Women, he thought. Can't live with them, can't live without them.  
  
There was a tense silence between Angel and Cassandra. Bryan was normally quiet anyway, so there was little spoken at breakfast that morning.  
  
Cassandra left soon after breakfast, to run to her house and get some clothes before going to the hospital. Now that Angel was out of high school, she was working full-time at Jerry's. Bryan was planning to do what he normally did: sit on his ass and watch TV. He was starting to train again, thankfully, but he still had lapses of motivation.  
  
Angel was reading the paper that morning when she spotted the front-page story. "Oh my God," she murmured.  
  
Bryan glanced over. "What is it?"  
  
"This!" Angel shoved the paper in his face, with a large color photo of the wreckage of a tank. Authorities were mystified as to the origin of the tank, as well as the soldiers underneath the tank's head, which was found about thirty yards away from its body. No positive identification had been made on any of the bodies, but the tank bore the logo of Mishima Enterprises. The name rang a bell in Angel's memory, but she couldn't quite grasp it and it slipped away.  
  
"Shit," Bryan muttered as he moved the paper far enough away that his eyes could focus on it. The police had no idea how the tank's head had been removed, or why it was even there in the first place.  
  
"Bryan?" came Angel's quiet voice. "Did you have anything to do with that?"  
  
"Ah..." he wasn't quite sure how to answer.   
  
She read him perfectly. "You did, didn't you? What the hell happened? How did that tank get... torn apart, like that?"  
  
"Don't really remember," he said quickly, trying to find a way to change the subject.  
  
"Bryan..." She stood there, arms crossed, foot tapping.  
  
He summoned all of the shame and disgrace he could to the forefront of his mind. "I got conked out, okay? Somebody jumped me. I was about to get back to my truck, and BOOM! something blew up."  
  
She didn't believe him. "Whatever."  
  
He was incredulous that she let him off that easily. However, "I expect an explanation at a later date, Bryan," she said sharply. "A TRUE one." That said, she spun on her heel and walked out the door, on her way to work.  
  
He sighed. Putting up with Angel's nosiness was almost more trouble than it was worth. She had every right to know, it was just that... he wasn't sure how to tell her. He wasn't ready to accept any disasters that might befall him if he DID say anthing.  
  
For example, how the hell was he supposed to tell her that he wasn't even remotely related to her, or that he was dead? What he did know about her past was incredibly sketchy. He knew that she was trained from birth to be the most skilled, fearsome, all-around kickass person on the planet. That Japanese guy from the other night had confirmed his hunch that Angel had once been a Tekkenshu. Then she had been sent here under Kenji's care to... to what? Learning to blend in would be the best guess. On that note, how is one supposed to blend in if one can kill seventeen armed people at once and live through it? It wasn't exactly a common trait.  
  
Looking at her--her eyes, her hair, her build, her abilites--one would know instatntly that she wasn't a normal person. But how non-normal was she? Bryan knew that she had been born of a surrogate mother... who? Another question. And who was the sperm donor for the father?  
  
The circumstances surrounding her birth were a complete mystery to everyone but the ones who arranged the whole thing. Perhaps Angel DID know. She just couldn't remember... Her memories were the key to everything. When and if she ever did recover them, all hell would break loose.  
  
And why didn't he tell her what he knew? He was nervous about the consequences. He didn't want her to fall apart. He didn't really want to say it, but he was kind of attached to this kid. She reminded him of himself, in his better and worse moments. Maybe they were somehow related, how the hell should he know?  
  
The day passed quickly. He trained, ate lunch, watched some TV, trained some more. He briefly considered trying to use the computer, but quickly gave it up. He'd never seen a more heavily safeguarded system in his life. Hell, all he wanted to do was surf the internet, maybe find some porn...  
  
His rampant thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. He glanced at the wall clock on his way to the door. Shit, it was 7:00 already? Glancing out the window, he spotted Cassandra's Intrepid parked in the driveway. She was off early, he realized, and opened the door.  
  
She looked like hell. He immediately saw the black eye, the disheveled hair, the slightly ripped dress. "Cassandra, what the hell? Did you get attacked or something?"  
  
"You could say that," she said primly, managing to retain her good humor, and allowed herself to be led to the living room. Once she was properly seated, Bryan went into the kitchen for an ice pack. She took it gratefully, and sat nursing her eye for the longest time.  
  
"Cassandra, what-"  
  
She shushed him. "Bryan, I have something to tell you, and I don't want you to say a word until I'm done, understand?" He nodded hesitantly. She took a deep breath. "Bryan, I'm-"  
  
Headlights flashed in the window. Two pairs, in fact. There was a bit of shouting outside. It sounded like Angel and some guy. When Angel unlocked the door and stepped inside, the man brushed past her rudely and barrelled into the living room. "There you are, you slut!" he bellowed. He was roaring drunk, even Bryan could smell it from where he was.  
  
"Who the hell are you, asshole?" Bryan growled through clenched teeth.  
  
The man straightened. "I'm Jonathan Harrelson, and I'm here to claim my whore of a wife!"  
  
Bryan's eyes widened to frightening proportions, and Angel saw his fists clench. His head whipped around to stare at Cassandra, who had all but curled into the fetal position, sobbing quietly. "Wife?" he finally managed to grunt.  
  
"Yes, my wife! How many times have YOU fucked her, you bastard?" The man, Johnathan, waved his fists.  
  
Bryan could only stare, shellshocked. He was about to explode, and that explosion could have dangerous results. Angel quickly stepped to Bryan's side, and grabbed his arm. "Bryan, calm down," she soothed, when he yanked his arm out of her grip and gave her a blood-chilling stare. Unnerved yet undaunted, she placed a restraining hand on his bicep. Her eyes traveled to the other seething man across the room. "I think you'd better leave, sir. It would be in your best interests."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere without my wife!" he bellowed. It was at that moment that Angel shouted something in Japanese. Takeru sprang into action, and planted himself in front of Jonathan, teeth showing and hair standing on end. He growled, low and deep, and the man took a few steps backward.  
  
There was an impasse, when Cassandra abruptly stood. "I'm coming," she mumbled, gathering up her things.  
  
Bryan was about to take a step forward when Angel once again restrained him. "Let her go," she murmured.  
  
Cassandra turned to face the silver-haired siblings. "Bryan," she murmured. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  
  
Her husband stepped forward and grabbed her arm roughly, nearly earning himself a vasectomy at the hands (teeth?) of Takeru, when Angel called him down. The tiny family could hear the man shouting at his wife all the way out the door, down the porch steps, all the way to their cars.  
  
A low growl issued from Bryan's throat, that quickly built into a roar of incredible anger, his eyes seeming to throw sparks. He turned, and thrust a fist into the wall, tearing a hole completely through it and busting into the shelves on the other side.  
  
"Such strength," Angel murmured in awe to herself. Bryan turned to face his sister slowly, shoulders heaving, the knuckles on the one hand slowly oozing blood, his eyes burning through her mind and into her very soul. "Bryan," she said slowly and calmly, "we need to talk." 


	19. Revelations

*Hold me when I'm here  
Right me when I'm wrong  
Hold me when I'm scared,  
And love me when I'm gone  
  
Everything I am  
Everything in me  
Wants to be the one  
You wanted me to be  
  
I'll never let you down  
Even if I could  
I'd give up everything  
If only for your good  
  
So hold me when I'm here  
Right me when I'm wrong  
Hold me when I'm scared  
I won't always be there,  
So love me when I'm gone*  
  
*3 Doors Down - When I'm Gone*  
"I'm sorry. I was gonna tell you..." Angel's voice was sadder than he'd ever heard anyone sound. Not that he was in any mood to care.  
  
"You KNEW? And you didn't TELL me?!" Bryan stood over her and glared, his icy blue eyes seeming to throw sparks. Angel could feel the air vibrating between them. His aura wasn't hard to read. All anger, and betrayal, and hurt.  
  
"She told me after I woke up, and found out that one of the bullets messed up my tattoo. She told me that she knew a good plastic surgeon, and let it slip that he was her husband. I confronted her about it, and she begged me not to tell you. She swore she'd tell you herself, and judging by her aura an hour ago, she was gonna tell you tonight. Then HE showed up and, well..."  
  
Bryan didn't say a word. He just stared at her, unblinking.  
  
Angel decided to press on. "She told me that it wasn't a happy marriage. She's a trophy wife, Bryan. They show up at dinners and functions together, but in the meantime they do whoever and whatever they want. She's good friends with his current mistress, so I hear."  
  
Bryan's voice was deep and gravelly. "So what does that make me?" Angel started to reply, but he cut her off. "What does that make me, Angel? A boyfriend? Some long-term forbidden love or something? Jesus H. Christ, Angel, I really..." he trailed off.  
  
"You really what?" Angel's voice was all compassion.  
  
Bryan raised his eyes to meet hers. "I really liked her. A lot. In fact, I liked her more than anyone else I've ever met. And there was more to it than sex. It was like..." He broke off, frustrated.  
  
"You were in love with her, weren't you? You loved Cassandra, and I think you still do. I can feel it, so don't lie to me. You are in love with Dr. Cassandra Harrelson, and you know it. You-"  
  
"Shut the fuck up, Angel! What do you know about it? You don't know anything! Cassandra, she was... different. It was like, we really clicked or something. Stop looking at me like that, you know what I mean." He heaved a sigh. "And now she's gone. I'll probably never see her again. Probably would have been better off if I hadn't met her."  
  
"No."  
  
Bryan looked up. "No? No what?"  
  
"No, you wouldn't have been better off. Listen to yourself, Bryan. I'm feeling stuff coming from you that I've NEVER felt coming from you. Listen to yourself lately. You WORRIED about me in the hospital. Cassandra made you HAPPY. Now you feel SAD and ANGRY. Don't you see? Something about her has unlocked your emotions. You have feelings again. Your mind-touch has, well, it's hard to describe but your mind is... deeper, somehow. There's more depth, more feeling. Bryan, your mind is ALIVE again. You can FEEL. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"  
  
At the moment, Bryan was impossible to read. Shock, amazement, and other emotions competed for dominance on the chalk-white face. He realized that she was right. He COULD feel emotions right now. He hadn't even noticed it. Cassandra... she'd taught him how to feel again, in a way that Angel never could.  
  
"Yeah, I understand. But, there's something else going on. Somehow, hearing you say that brings back... memories. Maybe my memories and feelings were just supressed, you know? I'm getting these flashbacks. I mean, I already remember most of my adult life, but what you said makes sense. Now, there's more feeling to them. I remember what I was feeling when those memories happened. I remember now..."  
  
Angel looked down for a moment. "You're lucky in that respect. I have yet to recover any more memories, though the ones I DO have are just a bit less foggy."  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that."  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
"I'm serious, Angel."  
  
"Yeah, well, while you're remembering, there's something I've been wanting to ask you for a long time." She waited until she had his full attention before continuing. "Bryan... where did you get that scar?"  
  
He seemed surprised by the question. "Hang on, let me think a minute... yeah, I remember now. A fight, about three years ago. It was back when I was a drug-runner for Mishima. Damn, those were bad times. Doing that work was what completely fucked up my life, you know? Back then, before..." He was silent a moment, then continued.  
  
"It was a shipment of some narcotic, I forget which. I'd been screwing up orders lately, and Mishima wasn't too happy about it. Interpol was getting closer, and I couldn't let them see me playing both sides of the street."  
  
"I thought you were undercover."  
  
"I was at first, then I got in too deep. Way too deep. Fine, I started sampling a bit of my own merchandise, and I got hooked. It was heroin. I couldn't let Interpol see that, so I went deeper 'undercover.' Then Mishima found out about it somehow. They were understandably pissed that I was screwing them out of some good merchandise. They sent a whole shitload of Tekkenshu soldiers after me, to 'teach me a lesson,' so they said.  
  
"At first, I was kicking ass on everybody out there. I'd just KO'd my fifth target when they all went quiet. They stepped back, kinda parting the waves. I thought it would be an Owl or something but it was a chick. Couldn't tell anything about her, other than that, from wearin' that gay-ass body armor and that helmet. She didn't say one word. She just looked at me for a moment, then she starts attacking.  
  
"She was kicking my ass. I knew that I was gonna have to play dirty if I was gonna live, so I pulled out my trusty hunting knife and came at her. She grabbed it out of my hand before I could do anything about it, then she started attacking ME with it. She got me good. The face and chest scars are all from one big lucky cut she got on me. She probably would have killed me, but then there were sirens. The cops were showing up. Obviously my cuts hurt like hell, and I couldn't see out my left eye because of the blood, but I could see her staring at me and then she said something in Japanese. I think it was-"  
  
"Hanashi ni naran'na."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Hanashi ni naran'na. Roughly translated, it means 'You're too pathetic for words.'" Angel's voice was quiet, and her eyes were distant, as though she was trying remember something.  
  
Bryan stared. "Yeah, that's right. How'd you know?"  
  
"Because I remember that happening."  
  
"What? How can you, unless..."  
  
They were both silent for a moment, then Angel's voice came, barely above a wisper. "Jesus Chist. That was me, back then." Her eyes refused to meet his. "It just hit me. Bryan... I gave you that scar."   
  
More silence. She looked up to see him staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. She decided to continue. "I got a god-awful beating that night. Apparently my... master... had told me that I was supposed to kill you. I would have, but those sirens saved your life. My master... I wish I remembered his name. It would probably clear up a lot about the past I still can't remember. I have names without faces, and faces without names. I just wish I could REMEMBER!" She looked up at him. "One thing I do remember was feeling deja vu when I saw your face at Jerry's for the first time. I knew I'd seen that scar before, but I had no idea where..."  
  
Bryan said nothing, he just kept staring at her. His mind raced. This is her, he thought. She scarred me. He'd wanted revenge "...so bad," he murmured.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I remember wanting to get you back for this scar. I wanted it bad. See, you're one of the few people in the world that has ever kicked my ass, and I wanted revenge so bad. Now, here you are..." he trailed off.  
  
"Here I am..." she echoed.  
  
Both of them stared at the floor for a moment. Then he spoke up. "I know where I've seen your tattoo before."  
  
Her eyes snapped up to meet his. Bryan looked away instantly. "I saw him during the tournament. Never fought him, though. I just saw him fighting. Some Japanese kid."  
  
"A Japanese kid with a tattoo... and brown eyes! He had brown eyes!" Angel's mind raced. Things were coming back to her now. She thought harder. Concentrate, she thought to herself. Who is this boy? She almost had it when-  
  
"Aaargh!" She slapped both hands to her head. "Fuck, that hurts!" It felt like her head would explode.  
  
"Brain cramp?"  
  
"No, smartass. It hurts to remember... wait. Now I get it. My memories aren't lost, they're blocked! Somebody blocked my memories. That's not something you do easily. Only another telepath could do that. And the person who blocked my memories had brown eyes," she glanced down at her arm, "and this tattoo!"   
  
She looked at him. "You say you saw him during the tournament?" When Bryan nodded, she leaped out of her chair and raced for Kenji's study. Mystified, he followed her, and saw her clattering away on the keyboards. "Before you ask, I'm looking for information on the King of Iron Fist Tournament 3. They gotta have pictures of the fighters!"  
  
"They don't."  
  
"What?"  
  
"That tournament never got televised, and there were no photographers. Nobody saw the final fight. Heihachi Mishima claimed victory, and nobody's disputed it, so..."  
  
She looked at the computer screen, defeated. "So there's no picture of him." She sighed. "I feel cheated."  
  
Another silence descended, and Bryan took a swig of beer and leaned against the doorframe. "So, what now?"  
  
Angel didn't answer. Her head was bowed, deep in thought. A long time passed, with the only movement being Bryan's drinking. Then she spoke. "It's you."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"It's you. Somehow, you're connected to all of this. You used to be an undercover cop, and you were a delivery boy for a large drug dealer. I was a soldier for that drug dealer. We faced off, and I gave you that scar. It's the dealer that ties this all together. And you said it earlier. The dealer was Mishima Enterprises." She paused to think. "Okay, so I was a soldier in the private army of Mishima Enterprises. You were an undercover cop, working for Mishima Enterprises. Somehow you pissed them off, and they did something to you. Then here you are, dear brother, and you say that you don't remember what happened. I think you're lying."  
  
Bryan could only stare. Oh God, here it comes.  
  
"Bryan, I think it's time you told me who you really are." She sat in the computer chair with her hands folded in her lap. Her face was stern, and her eyes seemed to burn holes into his. There was an incredibly long silence, where all they did was stare at each other. She wasn't going to let him get away, he knew.  
  
He sighed, and looked her squarely in the eyes. "I'm not your real brother."  
  
"I know that. I was wondering why you would pose as my brother, but I decided to wait it out. Now, I'm done waiting. Keep going."  
  
"This is gonna take a while, and I wanna sit down." She followed him closely all the way back to the living room. He took his customary spot on the loveseat, and she curled up in a chair. Her eyes never left his.  
  
He told her everything. Everything he remembered. He told her about his history as a cop, and how he got into Interpol. He told her about being partners with Lei Wulong, and about working for Mishima undercover. He nearly choked when he spoke of that night, when he died. His eyes burned when he spoke of waking up in Abel's lab. His hands shook when he related all of the things that Abel had made him do. He told her everything. He didn't look at her the entire time, but when he finished he raised his gaze to meet hers.  
  
"My God..." Angel murmured, followed by a long silence. Bryan started to take a swig of beer, then realized it was empty. He looked out the window. Christ, it was pitch black outside! His little story had taken longer than he'd thought. "So that means..."  
  
"Yeah, Angel. I'm dead. I'm a fucking cyborg. So now you know. You happy now?" His voice was bitter, and rose with each word until he was almost yelling at her. They he saw her eyes. Her eyes. Her eyes were closed, and he could see tears rolling down her cheeks. "My God, Angel! If you can't stand me yelling at you-"  
  
"It's not that. I wasn't crying because you yelled. It's because... oh, Bryan." Then she really broke down. She curled into a ball, weeping. She was broadcasting pain and sorrow, directing them at him. Then it hit him.  
  
"Angel..." he stared at her. "Are you... are you really crying for me?" She nodded, still weeping. "Jesus, Angel, I... fuck, I just..."  
  
A long silence passed, with the only sound being Angel's hoarse, ragged breaths as she fought to regain control of herself. Bryan could only stare at the floor, stunned. She was crying for him, he thought. She really cared about him.  
  
Then he felt her hand, on his. He looked into her glittering eyes. "Bryan, as far as I'm concerned... you ARE my brother... if you want to be."  
  
Bryan managed a heavy nod before something odd happened to him. Suddenly his eyes burned and stung, and it felt like he'd been sprayed with mace or something. Then there was an odd wetness on his cheek, and a small drop splashed on his arm. "Bryan... you're crying." Her voice took on an odd note. "You're crying, Bryan. And your arm... it's not cold anymore." 


	20. Sickness

A week later...  
  
The doorbell rang.  
  
Bryan looked from the TV, to Angel, to the door, to Angel, and back to the door. "Please tell me that's not another damn customer of Kenji's. Don't they fucking know he's dead?"  
  
Angel's eyes unfocused for a moment, then she suddenly smiled broadly and leaped from her seat on the couch. "It's not. It's Jeff!"  
  
Bryan couldn't decide whether to stare or roll his eyes. "You know it always freaks me out when you do that."  
  
She gave him an apologetic grin before bouncing to the door. She flung it open, and found herself face-to-face with Jeff Clay. "Hey, Angel! You ready to go?" The young eighteen-year-old asked, his grin no less broad than hers.  
  
"Just a second!" She bounced back to her brother, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Good-night, Bryan!" Then they were out the door and practically jogging.  
  
Bryan walked to the door to fire a few parting shots at the retreating couple. "Hey, Jeff! You bring her back by 9:00, you hear me?" Jeff waved as they jogged for his car. "Hey, Angel! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"  
  
"And what exactly would that be?" she shouted back with a broad smile, before climbing into the shiny green Pontiac.  
  
Bryan stood in silence for a moment, before shrugging and waving. Returning to the loveseat, he found Takeru studying him with a puzzled look on his canine face. "She's going on a date, dog." Bryan informed him. "Her first date ever."  
  
They sat in silence, dog and man, thinking about the events that would probably transpire that night.  
  
*********************************************  
  
Jeff took her to dinner at the local Fazoli's. It was good food, and they laughed and talked the entire time. They were already good friends, so going out together was nothing new for them. After dinner came a movie. He asked her if she wanted to see the new chick flick. She calmly informed him that she would remove his head and use it for a soccer ball before she went to a chick flick with ANYONE. Jeff swallowed, and ordered two tickets to the latest Steven Seagal movie.  
  
*********************************************  
  
At home, it was halfway through Angel's movie when Bryan felt the first twinge in his chest. A few seconds later came a dull ache in his midsection. He grimaced and muted the TV. He could feel bile starting to rise in his throat, and he groggily made his way to the bathroom. Thinking he'd had one beer too many that night, he hovered over the toilet, but nothing came up. He frowned, and rinsed his mouth with water before returning to the TV.  
  
*********************************************  
  
"I've seen better," Angel informed Jeff. "That one simply wasn't his best work, I'm serious."  
  
"Yeah, right." Jeff was not a big Steven Seagal fan, but Angel simply adored martial arts films. No surprise there.  
  
They were exiting the theater after an hour and a half. The movie wasn't that bad, by Angel's standards, but Jeff thought it sucked.  
  
"I've seen better, too, Angel. A LOT better." He was only half joking, but wore a lopsided grin to take the sting out of his words.  
  
They chatted some more as they headed toward's Jeff's car. It was while waiting for Jeff to unlock the door before Angel felt the slight twinge in her chest. No, not a twinge. An ache, like she was exhausted, or out of breath. She placed a hand over her sternum, and breathed hard for a moment. Jeff saw it and glanced over.  
  
"Hey, are you okay?" His voice was full of concern.  
  
"No, I'm fine," she said shakily, and climbed into the car. "I don't know what came over me. I'm fine, really." And she was. The chest pain had been purely psychic. Angel belatedly realized that it was from a link she had with someone. Being an empath, she inavertently formed a psionic link with people she was close to. In her case, it was Jerry, Jeff, and Bryan. She could feel their emotions, even from far away. And she could feel their pain, too. The pain she felt now was Bryan's. And it was coming back, stronger than before. "On second thought, I think I'd like to go home. Something's not right."  
  
Slightly disappointed, but overly concerned, Jeff drove her home. He knew about her empathic abilities, and although he wasn't wild about them, he did know when she was being serious.  
  
*******************************************  
  
Bryan was in the bathroom again, hovering over the toilet. This time, it was no false alarm, and he was puking his guts out. When he finally emptied his stomach and rinsed out his rancid mouth, the ache returned in his chest. It felt like his lungs were on fire. He was having trouble breathing, too, and he staggered his way back to his bedroom before collapsing on his unmade bed. Then the coughs started. Hoarse, ragged coughs that made it seem as though he was trying to get rid of his very lungs. God, it hurt! And he couldn't stop coughing.  
  
********************************************  
  
By the time the car pulled into the driveway, Angel was in a state of near-panic, her hand clutched to her sternum in shared pain. She nearly yanked the door off the hinges in her haste to unlock it. Takeru rushed toward her, ears back with worry. Jeff and the dog followed Angel to the living room. Bryan wasn't there. "Bryan?" she called anxiously. The sound of heavy coughing reached her ears, and the trio raced for Bryan's room, where Angel threw open the door. "Oh, sweet mother of...!"  
  
Bryan was on his hands and knees on the bedroom floor, his back arched in pain. He was coughing heavily, and she could see that his mouth was bright red. Bryan was coughing up blood. She leaped to his side, and knelt down next to him. Jeff hovered anxiously in the doorway, unsure of what to do.  
  
Angel clapped her brother on the back several times, at which Bryan rolled onto his side and clutched his stomach. "He's having trouble breathing!" shouted Angel. At least he'd stopped coughing. A single long exhale, then... nothing! Bryan pulled with his lungs, pulled with all his might, but nothing happened. He couldn't inhale. He couldn't breathe! A wave of his panic washed over his sister, nearly knocking her over, but she responded the best way she knew how. She placed both hands on his bare chest, and closed her eyes.  
  
It was something she'd done only a few times, but Angel had learned how to psychically manipulate the processes of the human body. His lungs had essentially shut down, much as he'd wish otherwise. Angel 'dug' for a while, and found the culprit to be a blood clot. She broke it up, and instantly felt the pressure rise from his aching chest. He inhaled deeply, the breath of life itself. Angel felt a surge of relief that was close to orgastic in its intensity. She knew she'd saved his life.  
  
Flat on his back, Bryan opened his eyes and looked deep into those of his sister. His fit, or whatever it was, had subsided. A few more solitary coughs, a deep inhale, and then he climbed to his feet. He almost immediately fell over, and it was with Angel's aid that he made it to the bed not five feet away.  
  
"Is he okay?" Jeff asked anxiously.  
  
"For now," Angel said worriedly. "I think I'll call a doctor."  
  
"No!" Bryan rasped. "Angel, no doctors. What if they..." Knowing that she would get the message, he faked another coughing fit.  
  
Angel knew exactly what he was talking about. What if the doctors found out that Bryan was a cyborg? The media would have a field day, and there was no telling what the US government would do. Jeff, however, had no idea what was going on. "What if they what?" he demanded.  
  
"What if they give him a shot, was what he meant to say." Angel said smoothly. "He hates needles."  
  
Bryan raised an eyebrow, but had to marvel at her ingenuity. Jeff chuckled, and thought of the mighty, badass Bryan being afraid of shots. It was quite amusing, and brought to Jeff's mind the image of Bryan, in full kickboxing regalia, backing slowly away from a hefty female nurse with a loaded hypodermic needle. He was hard pressed not to burst out laughing as he relayed the image to his friends, and there were more than a few grins around the room, particularly on Bryan's face.  
  
After a moment of silence, Angel walked her friend to the door. "I'm sorry about tonight, Jeff," she said hesitantly.  
  
"No problem. I'll call you some other time, alright?" He was genuinely concerned for her well-being, and Bryan was as much a part of her as anything.  
  
"Okay." They stared at each other uncertainly. Jeff started to lean in just the tiniest bit, but Angel shied away instinctively. Not surprised, he bid her a good night and left.  
  
When Angel walked back to her brother's room, Bryan was starting to nod off, but she wouldn't let him. "Bryan? Bryan, wake up." When he groggily opened one eye, she sat next to him on the bed. "Bryan, what the hell was that? It wasn't natural."  
  
He closed the eye, and for a moment she thought he would fall asleep again. Then he opened both steel-blue eyes to stare intently at her. "I'm dying, Angel."  
  
The revalation hit her like a load of bricks. "No..." she started to deny, but realized that it was futile. She'd been inside his mind, felt his nervous system. He WAS dying.  
  
"Yeah. You know... what I am. When Abel abandoned me, I'd been with him for a little over a year and a half. He'd do regular maintennace on me, like tuning up a car. It's been almost six months since my last 'tune-up' and, well..." He trailed off, collapsing into another coughing fit.  
  
On an impulse, Angel leaned forward and pressed a hand to his forehead. He could feel her enter his mind, search his body for answers. When she found them, she pulled away slowly.  
  
"You weren't designed to go this long without maintennace, were you? Your cybernetics are wearing out. They're shutting down, and they can't sustain you for much longer." Her face was expressionless, her tone flat, her eyes dull.  
  
"How much longer?" he asked hoarsely.  
  
There was a long pause. "A month, at best." Her tone was hard.  
  
Silence. He cursed hoarsely under his breath, but she heard every word. "That bastard," he rasped. "If it weren't for him, I'd already be dead."  
  
Angel adopted a curious look. "What was his name again?"  
  
He coughed. "Abel. I said it a bunch of times. Why?"  
  
Angel didn't answer. In her mind's eye, she saw a brief flash, like an old movie reel. She was looking at a shadowy figure, whose face she couldn't see. 'Yes, Abel-sama.' the voice (hers?) said primly.  
  
'Do you wish to go another round before retiring for the night?' the weasely voice asked.  
  
'No, Abel-sama...' the voice faded out, the picture disappeared, and she was once again back in reality.  
  
"Angel?" Bryan asked, seeing the faraway look.  
  
"That name gave me... a flashback. It's all right there, between the both of us. I just have to look for it." She looked at him. "But not tonight. You need to sleep, and so do I."  
  
When he started to protest, she shushed him. "Don't worry, Bryan. You can sleep now. I'll be listening." She leaned over and once again laid a hand on his forehead. His mind was a chaotic jumble of thoughts, which would make sleep impossible. She calmed them into a peaceable pattern, at which he almost immediately fell asleep. At that touch, she also re-established their link in full. With Cassandra gone, she didn't have to worry about disgusting thoughts anymore.  
  
At that sad note, she stood and left the room, turning out the lights and closing the door softly behind her. She was physically exhausted, but too keyed up to sleep. Her brother, her closest companion, the first person to ever really understand her... was dying. In her mindless wandering, she plopped down on his usual spot on the loveseat and flipped on the TV. She clicked aimlessly through the channels until something caught her eye. It was an advertisement with Japanese characters on the screen, with an English narration. No, not an advertisement. A notice, or an announcement. She'd almost read the Japanese characters when they disappeared an and older-looking Japanese man appeared on the screen and started speaking his native language in a rough, deep voice. It was somewhat muted, as that quiet male voice continued to translate in English.  
  
"My name is Heihachi Mishima, owner and CEO of Mishima Enterprises, in Japan. I am here to announce the King of Iron Fist Tournament 4, sponsored by my company.  
  
"I am old, and I must find a successor. I want that person to be a strong, capable person much like myself. Thus, the winner of this tournament shall be given the entire company as their prize!" The picture faded, to be replaced by the Mishima Enterprises logo, before returning to the evening news.  
  
Angel stared at the TV, stunned. Tournament? Mishima? The man, as well as his company, were connected to her past, though she couldn't remember how, other than the fact that they had been the ones to train her. But why? And didn't Bryan say that their mutual master, Dr. Abel, had been recruited by Mishima as its top scientific advisor?  
  
Suddenly the future of Bryan Fury and Angel Leah had gotten much simpler. Angel now knew where she and Bryan were going. They had to stake everything they had on this one hope: The King of Iron Fist Tournament 4. 


	21. Decision

*When you walk away  
You don't hear me say  
Please, oh baby, don't go  
  
Simple and clean is   
The way that you're making  
Me feel tonight  
It's hard to let it go  
  
Hold me  
Whatever lies beyond this morning  
Is a little later on  
Regardless of warnings,  
The future doesn't scare me at all  
Nothing's like before*  
  
*Utada Hikaru - Simple and Clean*  
"It's simple," Angel told her brother as soon as he woke up the next morning. "We enter the Tournament, one of us wins, and bingo, we can confront Abel."  
  
"That easy, huh?" he grunted in response. The moment his mind had registered wakefulness, she had barged into his room and plonked down on the edge of the bed to outline her grand scheme. He was less than impressed, especially so soon after waking.  
  
"Should be," she replied. "I mean, I've been training in the martial arts all my life. You have unbelievable artificial strength. It would be impossible for both of us to lose."  
  
At the mention of his ill-gotten strength, he closed his eyes and turned his head. She read him perfectly. "C'mon Bryan, it can't be that bad. You're bullet-proof, for God's sake. I'd kill for that."  
  
He turned back to her, his intense steel-blue eyes attempting to hide his pain. "It's a psychological thing, Angel. I'm dead. I'm no longer human."  
  
Angel forced a smile. "Are we even sure I'm human?"  
  
"Your point?"  
  
Her gaze became far away. "Kenji used to say something to me all the time. I usually ignored it because I hated him, but now I realize that it was good advice." She stared deep into his eyes. "He told me 'Accept what you are! Become what you must! That is the way of things.'" She took a deep breath. "'You are who you make yourself to be.'"  
  
There was silence for a moment. "You saying that I should be happy that I'm a goddamn cyborg?"  
  
"No, I'm saying that you've been given a second chance at life. Not only that, but you've been given skills and abilities that other people can only dream of."  
  
"That's one way to look at it," he mused. She sighed, and stood, then turned to him.  
  
"So are we doing it?"  
  
He paused and looked away. When he did look up, there was a faint grin on his face. "Yeah. Let's go kick Heihachi Mishima's ass."  
  
"That's the spirit!" Angel cheered. He gave her a Look, and she grinned. "What? I can't wait to enter this tournament!"  
  
"I can," he said quietly.  
  
"Something else. Remember that promise I made to Jarod?"  
  
"The cop?"  
  
"Yeah. I was hoping all along that you'd agree to go to Japan. I do remember that I lived there for most of my life. Maybe I'll remember some more things."  
  
"So, win or lose the Tournament, you want to stay in Japan?"  
  
She shook her head. "No lose, man. We can't lose. I'm fighting for you. If we both lose..." she trailed off. "I don't know what I would do, or where I would go. It's all or nothing."  
  
"Yeah..." he said quietly. There was silence for a long moment.  
  
Angel finally stood. "Well, that means that we'll be leaving soon. The tournament is next month. I'll give Jerry a two-weeks notice, then we'll train like hell for a week and a half. I want to get there early and scope out the competition."  
  
"Whatever you say, boss," Bryan deadpanned. She shot him a funny look, and walked out of his room with a considerably lighter step. He stared after her for a long time. "All or nothing," he muttered softly. She didn't know the half of it. He sighed, climbed slowly out of his nice warm bed, and dressed.  
It was a day later that Angel delivered her two weeks' notice to a stunned Jerry. She never told him about her deal with Jarod. She simply told him that she felt it was time to move on. He hemmed and hawed about the entire deal, but she was resolute, and he regretfully wished her good luck.  
  
If only it had been that easy with Jeff. She'd become somewhat attached to him, almost like a true friend, but she knew they'd never be all that close. She was too secretive, too mysterious, too much a loner to be close to anyone but Bryan. And if he died, well, then she'd simply have to go somewhere else and continue as she had been before his arrival, as a lonely, dangerous young adult with no ties to anyone. Now that she thought about it, she would make a good mercenary. She didn't know why, but the thought stuck with her.  
  
With two days till departure, her employment terminated, and nearly all ties to this place severed, she regretfully drove over to Jeff's house with a bouncing, energetic Takeru taking more than his share of space in the back seat, his massive head plastered to the window as the scenery rolled by. He let out deafning barks as he was released from the all-leather-interior prison, and cavorted madly about the Clay yard for several minutes.  
  
The two young adults watched the mammoth canine as Angel told Jeff in even tones about her impending departure. He was shocked, and a little hurt that she'd taken this long to tell him. Bryan was the reason they were leaving, that they needed to go to Japan, that they had to win.  
  
"What's wrong with him?" Jeff asked quietly.  
  
She was quiet a moment. "He has cancer," she said in a dull voice. Lying to him hurt, but she couldn't tell him the truth, could she?  
  
Could she?  
  
"So why do you need to go to Japan again?" he asked for the second time, unable to grasp the concept of her leaving.  
  
"If we win the tournament, we would have the most advanced medical resources in the world at our disposal. If anyone in the world could cure him, it would be Mishima Enterprises." She took a breath. "That's why we have to go. And that's why we have to win."  
  
"But if both of you enter, then wouldn't you have to fight each other sooner or later?"  
  
She looked away. "Yeah. That's a risk we're willing to take. Two of us has a much better chance than just one.  
  
He was silent. She sighed, and stood. "I'd better go," she said quietly. "I still have some packing to do."  
  
He stood a bit faster than she had. "Win or lose, you're coming back... right?" His eyes were sad, pleading. Was he really that attached to her? she wondered.  
  
"I don't know." She was reluctant to leave this little place, and gave herself a mental kick. Do what needs to be done, Angel, she told herself. She started walking to her car. She opened the door, then paused, shut it, and walked back over to him. "I almost forgot. I have something I want to leave with you." Before he could ask, she whistled, and her loyal dog came bounding toward her.  
  
He sensed her plan. "You can't be serious."  
  
"I am," she stated firmly. She knelt down next to her furry friend, and spoke to him in gentle tones in Japanese. The dog's ears went from straight up to laid back, and he adopted a sad posture that nearly made her heart break.  
  
At length, she stood, and spoke a few more words to the dog, softly. Takeru whimpered pitifully, as though she was stealing away his very soul. The words were spoken again, more firmly, and the dog's tail fell between his legs as he walked slowly over to Jeff and sat by the teenager's side.  
  
"Angel, no, you can't..."  
  
"Can, have, will, and shall." She said stiffly. "I've already spoken to David, and he said you could keep Takeru. I've delivered all his stuff, too, and some food, or didn't you notice it?"  
  
"No," he said slowly. He still couldn't believe it. Takeru was like a child to Angel, was she really giving him away?  
  
It was almost as if she'd read his mind. "Takeru was my only friend for so long, Jeff. Now you're my closest friend, and I want to leave you with something that means a lot to me. Besides, if I do win the tournament, there'd be no place for a dog this big."  
  
They stared into each other's eyes for the longest time. "Goodbye, Jeff." She turned and again strode to her car when Takeru let out another anguished whimper. She paused, and looked into those enoromous, liquid brown eyes. "I'm sorry, Takeru," she said in English for Jeff's benefit. "Your job is to guard this house now." She said it again in fast Japanese, and the dog's head sank even lower, but he remained silent. Her gaze rose to Jeff's again, and he wore the same heartbroken expression that her dog did. She gave a slow, wistful smile and climbed into her car.  
  
Tears appeared in the corners of Jeff's eyes as he watched her drive away, and his hand traveled absently down to the dog's head to give it a scratch before turning silently to his house. Takeru did not follow his new master indoors, but instead sat on the front steps, his eyes never leaving the place where he had last seen his beloved mistress's car.  
In her own car on the way home, Angel felt the anguish of both minds. Jeff had been genuinely attached to her, she knew that now, and there was a pair of hearts in the Clay household that were breaking at her departure. Her gaze grew hard, telling herself that it had to be done, that she had a job to do, that a life depended on her now. Certainly Bryan could take care of himself, but she felt a certain sense of protectiveness toward him. Just like a family, a small voice whispered in the depths of her consciousness.  
  
Unbeknownst to her, ever since her near-death experience, certain changes had become apparent in Angel. For example, her eyes often changed color when she was at extreme ends of the mood spectrum. Blue was happy, green was her night-vision that was attached to no mood at all, red was anger, and black was the color that shone true whenever she tried to hide her feelings. Her eyes, could she see them now, were an inky black as she tried to ignore the anguish rising inside her.  
  
In those hard black eyes, there were tears. 


	22. Bad Company

*Go on if you want it  
Another world awaits you   
Don't you give up on it  
You bite the hand that feeds you  
  
All alone, cold fields you wander  
Memories of it, cloud your sight  
Fills your dreams, disturbs your slumber  
Lost your way, a fallen knight  
  
Hold now, aim is steady  
Another world awaits you  
One thousand years--you ready?  
The other world it takes you   
  
Go into the sand and the dust in the sky   
Go now, there's no better plan than to do or to die   
Free me pray to the faith in the face of the light   
Feed me fill me with sin now get ready to fight *  
  
*Nobuo Uematsu - Other World (Final Fantasy X Soundtrack)*  
  
"Whoa."  
  
That was the first word out of Angel's mouth as she got her first look at the Mishima Headquarters building in Japan. It was taller than most skyscrapers in America, that was for sure.  
  
"Damn," Bryan muttered in agreement. They gawked at it like a pair of tourists for a minute before entering the main lobby. There were posters all over the place advertising good seats for the Final Round in the Tournament, as well as which TV stations one should watch in order to see the fights. Bryan didn't speak Japanese, but Angel was so fluent it was scary, so they didn't have much of a problem.  
  
Registering wasn't much of a hassle, and they were allowed to bunk in the same hotel room (with two beds, of course, and free of charge as per the Mishima-sponsored event). They stowed their bags and inspected the bathroom, and made their way back downstairs to the work-out area, where other fighters were beginning to converge and show off. In the back of her mind, a little thought kept eating at Angel that she knew exactly how to get to the weight room from the main building, even though she didn't think she'd been here before.  
  
Suddenly Angel grabbed Bryan's arm excitedly. "That's King!" She squealed, and pointed to where a tall, dark-skinned man was signing autographs. Covering his head was the highly-recognized jaguar mask, but this time with long, wavy black hair pouring out the back all the way down to the waist. His clothing suggested that he'd just gotten off the Las Vegas strip, which somewhat disappointed her.  
  
Bryan tapped her arm, and pointed out another tall man surrounded by TV cameras and talking angrily into the out-thrust microphones. "Paul Phonenix. He's a jackass." This was obvious, because a few of the TV people were beginning to seek out other victims, which seemed to infuriate Phoenix even more. "He's a sore loser," Bryan added. "He kicked my ass last tournament, but the stupid fuck left before it was over. Serves him right."  
  
"LAST Tournament? You were in the King of Iron Fist 3?" Angel was plainly shocked.  
  
"I didn't tell you?" Bryan said with mock-innocence.  
  
She death-glared him, then abruptly straightened, her face becoming a mask of disgust. "Sicko," she muttered.  
  
"What is it?" Bryan asked.  
  
She made a face. "Don't look now, but the guy behind you is checking out your ass."  
  
Bryan looked anyway, and locked gazes with a man dressed completely in purple. Dress shoes, pinstripe pants, frilly shirt, and aviator shades, all purple. Hell, even his HAIR was purple. The purple guy gave Bryan a half-nod, and mouthed 'nice ass.' Bryan gave an angry glare, and the man lost interest momentarily.   
  
Angel thought a moment. "I told you not to look. I saw him register earlier. Are you ready for this? His name is Violet Purple."  
  
Bryan stared incredulously at her, before chuckling to himself. "Faggot."  
  
She started to agree with him, then made another disgusted face. "No, apparently he's bisexual. He's checking out MY ass now. I believe our hair color is a turn-on for him." She shuddered, and the silver-haired siblings walked as far away from Violet as possible.  
  
They decided to walk around outside for a while. Angel explained that they were in a part of town known as the Shinjuku, and that it was one of the many sites scattered around Mishima that would be used as a fighting arena.  
  
Leaning against one of the lamp posts, and smoking a cigarette, was a kid straight out of the Army. Looking at his uniform, Angel pronounced him a Korean. Bryan unexpectedly confirmed it. "I kicked his ass last tournament. That's how I could beat that Billy asshole back home. His name's Howar, uh, Whore, uh, oh shit..."  
  
Apparently the Korean had heard them, because he looked up and locked gazes with Bryan. Flicking away the cigarette, he stood and strode over to them, his firey red hair short-cut and spiked. "My name is Hwoarang," he said in flawless English. "And don't you forget it, you American asshole. I'm going to kill you this time!"  
  
The two stared each other in the eye for a moment, before Hwoarang suddenly turned and walked away, muttering in his mother tongue. Angel stood there, listened, then called out something in Korean. Hwoarang halted in his tracks, turned, and strode up to her. They jabbered back and forth for a little while, with Bryan totally lost. Whatever Angel was saying was making the Korean pretty pissed, because he kept pacing back and forth and spewing Korean obsceneties, while Angel simply kept talking in that same tone.  
  
She wasn't nearly as fluent in Korean as she was in Japanese, but her pronunciation was perfect, and her mind translated the meaning of words he said that she didn't know. Hwoarang spat out a final expletive and stomped away, leaving Angel staring open-mouthed at him.  
  
"What'd he say?" Bryan asked, leaning in close.  
  
"He said he was going to get you this time. I told him I was your sister, then he went into this big rant about how he was going to destroy all of us, and nuke our country, stuff like that." She shrugged. "I told him he could kiss my American ass, and he called me a bitch."  
  
Bryan raised an eyebrow, and for a moment Angel was sure that Bryan was going to go layeth the smacketh down on the spike-headed Korean. She held out a hand to stop him. "I'm used to it. Besides, I'm going to kick his ass later, anyway."  
  
"Well, one of us is."  
  
She grinned, then saddened. "We draw our fights tomorrow morning. If I draw against you, I'm not holding back, you know."  
  
"Neither am I. I owe you from that little spat we had a few months ago." He rubbed his chest, reminding her of the bruise she'd left. It had long since disappeared, but every once in a while he fancied that he felt a bit of tenderness there.  
  
"I guess that's good," she said quietly, and thrust out her hand. "May the best Fury win."  
  
They shook hands. Angel had registered as Angel Fury, as strange as that name sounded. He'd objected, but she reassured him that she had a birth certificate with her that would prove her identity should the need arise. Bryan suspected that it was forged, but didn't ask any questions. She probably didn't know, anyway.  
  
Sleep came easily that night, and the next morning all fighters proceeded to the main building to draw fights. Bryan was paired with, of all people, Violet Purple, while Angel drew against a mammoth man named Craig Marduk. Bryan had never heard of the giant, but Angel explained that he was a former Vale Tudo champion that had been barred from the ring for a minor scandal. Last she'd heard, he was in a maximum security prison serving ten years. Apparently he'd been let out early.  
  
"Next up, Hwoarang will be facing Christie Montiero."  
  
Angel scanned the crowd, and found those named. Christie was a deeply tanned, dark-haired young woman that, in Angel's opinion, needed to put some more clothing on. She constantly looked as though she were about to 'fall out' of her shirt.  
  
Hwoarang, on the other hand, leaned against a side wall and lit up a cigarette. Nobody stopped him. His flaming red hair was in stark contrast to his Army fatigues, which he insisted on wearing despite the fact that he was AWOL and in front of a camera. His golden brown eyes spotted Angel looking at him, and gave her the Korean equivalent of flying the bird. She sneered at him and returned the favor, American style.  
  
The moderator continued to draw out names. "Next matchup: Steve Fox will be facing Lei Wulong."  
  
Bryan sat straight up in his chair. Lei Wulong. The name hit him like a bolt of lightning. He craned his neck, and found the short Chinese man leaning against one of the back walls. Their eyes met, and it was impossible to describe the shock on the Chinese's face. Angel sensed her brother's confusion, and turned around as well. She recognized Wulong from the news, but turned to Bryan. "Is that him? Is that your-"  
  
"Don't say it. Yeah, that's him. That's the pussy Mandarin bastard that left me for dead."   
  
Angel placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Julia Chang will be fighting Jin Kazama."  
  
Now it was Angel's turn to frown. Bryan noticed, and leaned over. "What's wrong? Who are they?"  
  
Her brow furrowed, as she answered. "I don't know. But Jin Kazama... the name seems... familair, somehow." She shifted in her seat and scanned the room, but didn't see anyone that fit the name. Julia Chang was doing the same thing. In the back, young Chinese girl in pigtails squealed at the mysterious young man's name, and went bouncing all over the room searching for him.  
  
"Next fight: Yoshimitsu versus Kazuya Mishima."  
  
"Kazuya Mishima?!" Angel whirled in her seat. "It can't be. There's gotta be a mistake!" Apparently most of the crowd agreed with her, as a disjointed murmuring rose up through the ranks.  
  
"What's wrong?" asked Bryan, his preoccupation with throttling Wulong momentarily forgotten.  
  
"What's wrong?" she echoed. "Kazuya Mishima is dead! He was killed just after the King of Iron Fist Tournament 2." Her keen eyes searched the crowd, absently continuing to explain. "The most common story is that he was thrown into a volcano. Killed, by his own father."  
  
"Is he here right now?" Bryan asked, anxious to meet a fellow undead.  
  
"I don't see him. No, he's not here. But someone else is."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"There's someone here that knows me. And I know them." Her voice became quiet, hardly audible above the increasing din of the crowd over the reappearance of Kazuya Mishima. "It's him."  
  
"It's who?" Bryan asked crossly. "What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
"It's him," she repeated. "It's the boy from my past."  
  
Bryan's face was a blank.  
  
"The boy... with the tattoo like mine. He's here. And he's looking for me."  
  
But the boy wasn't there, at least not visible to Angel, and the pair failed to spot the hooded figure slipping quietly out the door. The figure knew that she'd sensed him. Psychics were good at sensing each other. It was surprising that she hadn't connected his name with his face.  
  
The figure was silent as he slipped into a dark alley in the rear of the Shinjuku. He'd known that Kazuya would show, but the girl as well? He knew she'd help him. After all, she was looking for him.  
  
Everything was starting to fall into place. 


	23. The Tournament

The sky was clear, the temperature warm, and the sunlight strong as Angel stood placidly in the center of the huge shopping mall that was her designated battleground today. A large fountain tinkled behind her, but she waited calmly with her arms folded at her chest, her trenchcoat fluttering lightly in the drafts created by passing shoppers. She wore well-worn sneakers, a T-shirt, and loose cargo pants under her long flowing coat. Her opponent hadn't shown up yet, but she knew he'd be here soon.  
  
And there he was. Shirtless, barefoot, wearing the skin-tight calf-length bright green pants that were his trademark, Craig Marduk stepped into the space left open by the skittish spectators. He'd shaved his head since yesterday, Angel noted idly. He flexed his muscles as he stretched and warmed up, something Angel had already done. She couldn't help but feel dwarfed by the giant, his massive chest seeming to double in size as he flexed his pecs for the crowd. Angel, however, was just the opposite, standing calmly in one place, her eyes never leaving her massive opponent.  
  
Bryan wasn't there behind her to whisper encouragement, much as she wished otherwise. At the moment, he was at the Shinjuku, getting ready to beat the living daylights out of Mr. Violet Purple. She sent him a quick thought of encouragement, which she felt him recieve, and he thought hard in kind, knowing she'd pick up on it.  
  
Finally Marduk was ready, and towered over her. "I'll break your face!" he snarled, and pointed a finger the size of a salami at her. Angel merely cracked her knuckles and stood silently. There was a paused, and suddenly the giant lept at her, rushing at her like a living freight train with no warning at all. But Angel had been warned by her unfair window into his mind. She cross-stepped quickly to the side, at the same time throwing an ox-jaw chop that connected just behind his ear. He snarled, stumbled, and turned to face her again, all but snorting and pawing the tiles. He crouched like a runner about to take off, his eyes boring in to hers. This time Angel swayed slowly on the balls of her feet, ready to leap aside again.  
  
She watched the giant's swaying ankles, paying careful attention to how his calf muscles expanded and contracted as he shifted his weight. He swayed once, twice, a third time, and paused. The moment his huge muscles tensed, Angel lept straight into the air as his massive form charged underneath her and hit nothing but air. On his way under her, however, she laced her fingers and brought both hands down hard, smashing into the back of his head with that massive double-fist. He growled and stumbled a bit, his momentum continuing to move him despite the blow, and he nearly crashed into a marble pillar as spectators yelped and moved quickly out of the way. Angel landed easily in a semi-crouch, her trenchcoat fluttering to the ground behind her like a long cape. Slowly she stood, and faced her adversary once again.  
  
Now he was pissed. He roared and towered over her like a grizzly bear, stepping slowly closer in an effort to intimidate her. In a movement too fast for him to follow, Angel's left foot suddenly whipped out and bashed him squarely on the nose, then dropped back behind her again. He took a step backward and rubbed his rapidly swelling nose, this time under no illusions as to how fast she was. If her feet were that fast, her hands would be even faster, and he would take no chances.  
  
With surprising speed for a man that large, Marduk charged forward in a punch rush, his giant fists pumping out like pistons. She lept backward and tried to get around them, and nearly got clobbered. Seeing an especially hard punch coming, she took the only avenue left to her and dropped into a crouch as a fist the size of a Virginia Baked Ham whistled over her head. She countered by charging forward in a punch rush of her own, all aimed at that massive six-pack. He tensed those muscles, and it almost hurt to hit them, but Angel gritted her teeth and waded in, putting all she had into those strikes.  
  
In an unexpected counter, he wrapped his massive arms around her in a bearhug, and squeezed. She tightened all her muscles in a desperate attempt to save her air, but all the wind was taken from her in a single massive squeeze. Thankfully he threw her to the ground after a moment, where Angel gratefully took a breath and attempted to roll out of the way. No such luck, as the mammoth man sat on her stomach and threw a right. She saw it coming and blocked just in time, only to get struck soundly by his left. She saw stars for a moment, before her brain snapped and she suddenly went back into that 'battle mode' that had saved her life a few weeks ago. All her judo training, under the guidance of old Parris back home, came to the forefront in an instant.  
  
Both her arms whipped out to grab his left hand and pin it to the ground against her upper arm. Her right ankle snaked out from under him and pinned his left foot. She then bucked her hips up, where his weight flew up and over her head, before changing direction and rolling to her right. With both left-side limbs pinned, he couldn't catch himself, and crashed to the ground on his left side, her momentum completing the roll. Suddenly HE was flat on his back with his opponent sitting on HIS chest. He snarled, and made the all-time classic mistake of reaching out with one arm, his left, to push away at her sternum. She grabbed the arm, and spun around so that her right foot whipped around his head while her left leg straightened and both were now across his massive chest. Laying perpendicular to him, his arm cluched tightly in both her hands and pulled straight out, her hips bucked cruelly up. Marduk roared in pain at the arm-bar, and tried to reach over to grab his spasmic left hand with his right, only to find himself stopped by her feet buried into his bicep. He was stuck, and snarled in agony as she nearly broke the elbow joint by bending his arm the wrong way. Such was the arm-bar, and now Marduk was feeling the pressure to get her off.  
  
Summoning the violent anger that had been his trademark for years, he roared and rolled backwards over his left shoulder, one foot nearly hitting her head, as she was forced to drop the arm and roll out of the way to avoid being crushed. However, she was still much faster than he. As he was just getting his balance, just beginning to stand up so he could turn around and stomp the life out of her, she leaped out of a crouch onto his back, where she clung like a leech. He roared once again and tried numerous ways to get her off, though all failed. She put him in what judo called the rear-naked choke, otherwise known to wrestling fans as the sleeper hold. She shot her right arm forward and around his neck, so that his windpipe--as well as the all-important arteries--fit nicely in the crook of her elbow. She then reached her right arm over to grasp her left bicep. Her left hand traveled behind his head to press it forward into her elbow. The hold was not intended to choke, but to cut off the arteries that supplied vital blood and oxygen to the brain, thus rendering her opponent unconscious due to oxygen deprivation. She clung to him hard, her legs not wrapped around his waist but hooked to the insides of his thighs, giving him no easy way to grab her.  
  
How he roared then! He flung his arms all around, trying to hit her, but she ducked her head and pressed all the harder, trying to render this massive giant unconscious so this fight would be over. He stumbled around, and in a flash of inspiration he stumbled over to a marble pillar and turned his back to it. Angel saw the attack coming and desperately tensed her muscles against the oncoming blow. He growled that wild, animalistic growl and rammed his back against the pillar. She grunted loudly, and almost lost her grip. He snarled and tried it again, managing to disloge her legs.  
  
But never her arms. Her legs now dangling freely, she held onto that choke with all her impressive strength, trying to finish him off without killing him. His oxygen-starved brain was beginning to feel the effects of it, and he was slowing down. His movements were slower, less coordinated. He was stumbling a lot more as he tried one more time to squash her against the pillar. It failed, and he dropped to one knee, breathing heavily. After what seemed like an eternity in that position, he finally fell flat on his face. Angel slowly dislodged herself from him, and stood.  
  
The official referee of the match rushed over to Marduk, and pronounced him unable to fight. Angel Fury was the winner! He lifted her arm like a boxing champion, which she quickly withdrew and grabbed her own shoulder. One of Marduk's rams against the pillar had landed squarely on one shoulderblade, and now her entire right side felt both numb and sore at the same time, especially in the back. She winced as she massaged the shoulder, rubbing with cautious strokes. God damn, it hurt.  
  
After all the fanfare, Angel was allowed to go back to the hotel room for some much-needed rest. Thankfully, there was going to be a full day's rest between every fight, to let the victors hopefully heal up any injuries they'd gotten in the previous fight, like she had. The moment she got back to the room, she took of her shoes and coat, flung them haphazardly over a chair, and flopped down on her bed. She started dozing, but was awakened some time later by a staggering Bryan. "You okay?" she asked, concerned. He really didn't look too good.  
  
"That little fucker was FAST," he growled, flopping down onto his bed. "Sure, I beat the shit out of him, but DAMN if he didn't pack a punch."  
  
"What style did he use?" Angel asked, curious.  
  
He gave her an insolent glare. "How the hell should I know? Damn near broke my kneecaps."  
  
"Well, he reminded me of somebody from the fighting circuits a long time ago. Some guy named Lee Chaolan. Big Ninjutsu champ. Adopted son of Heihachi Mishima, believe it or not. There was some kind of family fracas, and then Chaolan was barred from all Mishima-sponsored events." She lay back and folded her hands behind her head, pensive. "They called him the Silver Devil. Had hair that was shiny silver, like mine. He dyed it, of course. Not only is that not a natural color, but his eyebrows were black."  
  
What she had just said sank in, and Bryan looked over at her. "Not a natural color, huh? Do you dye your hair, then?"  
  
She looked away and closed her eyes. "No."  
  
He blinked, and rolled over on his side for a nap. A lot of stuff she'd said lately kept eating at him, though.  
  
'Are we even sure I'm human?' she'd asked.  
'I can do stuff that nobody else in the world can do!'  
'I gave you that scar.'  
'As far as I'm concerned, you are my brother... if you want to be.'  
  
Bryan's eyes popped open. He raised his head to look at the clock, which told him that he'd been asleep for a couple of hours. He rolled over just enough to see that Angel was indeed asleep. Sighing, he lay flat on his back, and stared at the plaster ceiling.  
  
Beating Violet that day had been harder than it should have been, which was a sure sign that he was weakening drastically. He didn't have much time left, he knew. It was no longer a matter of months, or even weeks. He was counting days now.  
  
Heavy with thought, his eyelids began to droop again, and he settled comfortably down for a good night's sleep.  
  
'Accept what you are! Become what you must! That is the way of things.'  
'You are who you make yourself to be.' 


	24. Round Two

***Hi, guys! Sorry about the ungodly delay. I kinda let all my schoolwork pile up, and I had to work frantically during the last week of school. But now, it's summer break, and I can get back to writing lots and lots! ^_^***  
  
*********************************************  
  
"Who you fighting today?" Angel asked cordially during breakfast two days later. The 'day of rest' yesterday had been a godsend; with her uncanny regenerative properties, the sharp pains along her right shoulder had been reduced to dull aches, the kind that she usually ignored.  
  
"Paul Phoenix," Bryan muttered shortly before stuffing his mouth with a biscuit.  
  
"Mr. Personality himself," Angel said with a grin. "At least you'll be getting some payback. I mean, God knows he deserves a beating."  
  
He nodded his assent, washing down his mouthful with some strong black coffee. "Who you got?"  
  
She shrugged. "Some old guy named Marshall something. Umm... Law, that's it. Marshall Law. He used to be a big fighter before going into the restaurant business. He uses Jeet Kun Do, I think."  
  
While he didn't know much about individual fighting arts, he knew that Jeet Kun Do practitioners were notoriously fast, and surprisingly strong. "Good luck. Break a leg," he said drolly, raising his coffee mug in salute.  
  
She rolled her eyes. "I intend to. Normally that expression is used in the theatre, but in our case," she grinned, "break an arm and a leg, and maybe a few ribs, and don't forget to crack the skull..."  
  
He choked back a laugh, trying not to choke on his mouthful of bacon, either. She smiled sweetly at him, and the two finished their breakfast before taking the pre-paid cabs to the day's battlegrounds.  
  
Of all places... Bryan raised an eyebrow as the cab pulled into a dingy-looking building, heading down a few levels... to a parking garage? No fuckin' way, he thought. He got out, and the cab roared away. Moments later, a second cab pulled up, and Phoenix climbed out. He wore a simple longsleeve shirt and pants. His trademark upswept hair was down, surprisingly, with the bangs hanging freely and the rest of his hair back in a loose ponytail.  
  
Bryan was really going to enjoy this. He smiled inwardly as he cracked his knuckles. For today's ass-kicking, he wore long navy blue pants, combat boots, and an unbuttoned longsleeve blue-gray shirt. He had a string of shotgun shells around one thigh.  
  
"You..." Phoenix muttered, recognizing his opponent. "Looks like I'll be kicking your ass a second time." He cracked his knuckles for effect.  
  
"Yeah right," Bryan sneered and tilted his head to one side, resulting in a series of loud pops. "You're about to get the living shit beat out of you, you dumb fuck."   
  
Phoenix raised a blond eyebrow, before his face contorted into a look of pure hatred. "You little bastard. NOBODY calls me stupid." He leaped forward with a 1-2 punch, managing to graze the side of Bryan's head.  
  
"Uh-huh," Bryan growled and sank a fist into the blond's stomach, hearing the wind rush violently out of the older man. He stood placidly and waited for Phoenix to catch his breath. "Which one of us left the fuckin' tournament before it was even finished last time?"  
  
Phoenix roared and leaped from a crouch to Bryan's face, knocking the younger man over. He retaliated by putting both feet on the blond man's chest and pushing with all his incredible might, sending the older man flying and smashing into a pillar. Phoenix grunted and fell to his knees. He couldn't believe how stupid he was being. He should know better than to let himself get mad and to rush blindly. How the hell was this tattooed freak so calm?  
  
Bryan was inwardly surprised at his own tranquility. He knew that he should be scared out of his wits for fear of losing, but he simply wasn't. What if his strength failed him? What if he dropped dead in the middle of a match? He crossed his arms and waited as Phoenix climbed slowly to his feet, and took a few steps away from the pillar.  
  
Nah, Bryan thought inwardly. It can't be this easy, can it? He stood like a stone statue, and allowed Phoenix to get a few shuffling steps closer to him.  
  
With incredible speed, Phoenix suddenly roared and leaped to the side, burying his elbow into Bryan's breastbone. Bryan grunted and rolled backwards a few time before slowly climbing to his feet. Boots rang on the concrete floorm, and his head snapped up just in time to see his opponent sliding toward him like a baseball player, feet aimed squarely at his face. Bryan swiftly rolled to the side, and Phoenix clambered to his feet. The older man leaped out of a crouch at Bryan's face, and knocked him over. Unlike his sister, Bryan did not know judo, and made Craig's mistake of reaching out to give his opponent a shove. And, like Angel, Phoenix immediately executed a flawless arm-bar.  
  
With inhuman strength, Bryan lifted his arm despite the older man still hanging onto it, and smashed it back down against the ground hard. Phoenix grunted and let go, shocked in more ways than one. Bryan quickly reached over and grabbed his opponent by the neck even as they both stood, and flung him bodily against that same pillar. Phoenix sank to one knee, breathing hard.  
  
Bryan was breathing kind of hard, himself. Almost belatedly, he felt his lungs start to burn. No, he thought desperately. Not again. Not now! He coughed a few times, and desperately swallowed in an attempt to moisten his suddenly parched throat. After a moment, the feeling faded, and he was himself again. He needed to end this quickly, while he was still at the top of his game. Glancing over, he saw that Phoenix was on his feet again, and had started to shuffle once again away from the pillar and toward Bryan. However, he wouldn't be caught off-guard again.  
  
Giving himself a mental shrug that translated into What the hell, he balled up his fists and stretched out his body, his left foot back and right arm forward, a graceful-yet-deadly punch that landed squarely on Phoenix's breastbone, propelling the older man back with blinding speed and smashing his back yet again against the pillar. The silver-haired kickboxer could almost swear that he heard the reinforced concrete crack and splinter, just a bit. He knew that Phoenix's breastbone certaily had.  
  
In fact, the blond man's chest looked kinda concave at the moment. That was worrisome. As this was a blood tournament, a fighter wasn't penalized for injuring another combatant. However, if that injured combatant happened to die...  
  
Fortunately nothing bad happened. A referee popped out of nowhere and rushed over to the fallen Phoenix. A few quick glances, and then he whipped out a radio and muttered some quick phrases. An ambulance came along shortly, and the wounded man was carried away amid a crowd of Japanese EMT's. A cab also arrived, to take the victor back to his room.  
  
Another day of this little war was over, Bryan thought sourly as he entered the hotel room. Angel was already spread-eagle on the bed, facedown, with an icepack poking out from under her stomach.  
  
"So, how was it?" she murmured quietly, her speech slightly marred by her face half-buried in the pillow. One eye looked at him for a moment, then closed.  
  
He sat down on the bed and the eye opened again, a sure sign that something was wrong. "I almost had another attack today," he said shortly.  
  
Now both eyes were open. "Shit," she muttered.  
  
"Yeah. I beat him easy, but there was a minute or two when I thought I was going to start coughing again." His face was a stony mask, staring at some invisible spot on the wall. His icy blue eyes never blinked, but simply glared straight ahead. "I don't know how much longer I'm going to last."  
  
Despite the soreness, Angel's arm slowly travelled to that of her brother, and the hand gently grasped his forearm. "Long enough. You only have to last long enough, then it'll be over and Mishima will be ours." She waited until he looked at her before continuing. "I'm not going to let you die, Bryan. You're too close to me, now."  
  
He closed his eyes and turned away, and his sister belatedly realized that he didn't want her to see the grateful tears brimming in his eyes, even though she could feel the stark emotions of his mind. She smiled and closed her own eyes, to give him that small victory. For him, it was the first time in years that anyone had given a damn about him. For her, it was the first time in her entire life that anyone had given a damn about her.  
  
They were going to do it. They were going to win.  
  
They had to. 


	25. A Reunion of Sorts

*Every time that I cry out  
  
No one ever comes to me  
  
Every time that I reach out  
  
No one ever rescues me  
  
I wish I could hide from everyone  
  
Is there somewhere else to be?  
  
Is there somewhere else to be?  
  
Take me in  
  
I want out  
  
That's all I need  
  
I wish I could run from everything  
  
Is there somewhere else to be?  
  
Is there somewhere else to be?  
  
Take me in  
  
I want out  
  
That's all I need*  
  
*Vast - Somewhere Else to Be*  
  
Angel awoke with a start, and tossed an angry look at the clock. It was just 5:30, dammit, why wouldn't her body let her sleep? One of these days she was going to kill herself waking up like that. Until then, she'd just have to deal with these daily pre-dawn heart attacks.  
  
She spared a look at the lump that was her brother, still sawing logs in a deep slumber. It was a wonder she got any sleep at all.  
  
And yet, it was also an indicator of his big problem; he hadn't always snored. He was having increasing difficulty breathing. It wasn't always blood clots at fault anymore, either. Sometimes his internal mechanics started to fail, and she'd have to find a way to jump-start it, the most convenient and yet painful way being to have him stick a fork in a light socket. They'd only had to do it once. It had nearly killed him, and had hurt like hell all over for hours, but it was a few days until his next "attack" and that was well worth it. He only had to last just a little longer, then everything would be over and Dr. Abel would repair him.  
  
He was becoming increasingly bitter about his condition. He hated the fact that he had always been perfectly self-sufficient, and now needed help from a previously non-existent sister to keep himself alive. That bitterness was slowly but surely turning into a violent rage. It didn't take nearly as long as it once had for her to make him angry. She could sympathize, but that was about it.  
  
She, too, was becoming increasingly hostile. Partly at her slow-to-heal injuries, at her leaving her only friends, at the old scars from that life-changing battle, at her lack of information about herself. A nickname for her was circulating throughout the spectators of the Tournament, calling her the Celestial Fury. There was even a catchphrase, too: Looks like heaven, hurts like hell. She usually ignored it.  
  
Today's fight was the start of the semi-finals. There were only five fighters left in the tournament. The winner out of those five would move on to the final round... and Heihachi Mishima.  
  
The thought thrilled her... and at the same time, it scared the shit out of her. Her, Angel Fury Leah, versus one of the greatest martial arts masters of all time. It would without a doubt be the hardest fight of her life. Deep down in her mind, she knew her brother wouldn't make it to the final fight. He was weakening faster than he realized, and the only thing that either of them could do was make this Tournament pass as quickly as possible. It saddened her profoundly, but once her pragmatism surfaced she realized that it was all up to her to save his life. Cheesy, yes. Guaranteed to piss him off, yes. Avoidable... no.  
  
She groaned, and finally climbed out of bed. Opening the door of their hotel room, the staff laid out the Japanese-print tournament newsletter listing the time, place, and participants in each of today's fights. Her eyes narrowed when saw her brother's scheduled opponent.  
  
Kazuya Mishima.  
  
Holy shit.  
  
Her brother was about to face off against one of the most feared opponents in the entire tournament. She hadn't had a chance to see the supposedly-dead legend at work, but now she was about to get a front-row seat to the deadly master's destruction of her massively weakened brother. Dammit.  
  
She was about to ball up the little newsletter when she saw the name of her opponent. Jin Kazama... where had she heard that name before? It was irritating the hell out of her, trying to figure that out. She'd been agonizing over it for hours. "Names without faces, and faces without names," she mused, closing the door and padding over to a recliner in front of the room's TV. She put it on mute, and turned on the closed-captioning, immersing herself in some anime shows. She knew she should be getting dressed, going for her morning's run, but something deep inside her said otherwise. She'd always trusted her instincts, and right now they were telling her to stay right where she was. An hour passed, when the finely-tuned senses in her brain gave her a familiar warning.  
  
Abruptly, almost without thinking about it, she stood and walked over to the door, unlocking it and opening it. Standing in the hallway, hand poised to knock, a look of shock plastered on his face, was the short ponytailed Chinese man from the first night. Lei Wulong.  
  
"He's sleeping now," she told the shocked-silent cop quietly in English. "Give me a moment to get dressed, and I'll join you."  
  
The cop managed to stutter a reply, the signals finally reaching his brain that told his arm to drop and his mouth to close. He gave the now-closed door some funny looks, muttering to himself in his mother tongue.  
  
The door opened again a few moments later, with Angel in jeans, a t-shirt, sneakers, her fingerless gloves, and the ever-present trenchcoat. "He had a tough time with Paul Phoenix yesterday," she said quietly as she closed the door behind her as noiselessly as possible. "He needs all the rest he can get."  
  
"Ahh..." Wulong's hand finally found the back of his neck. "Who are you? I mean, uh, what are you doing with Fury? And-"  
  
"And how the hell is he still alive?" Angel gave a throaty chuckle. She started down the hallway, hands in the pockets of her trenchcoat. Wulong stared open-mouthed for another moment before snapping out of it and jogging to catch up.  
  
"Uh, yeah."  
  
"You were under the impression that he's dead, correct?"  
  
Wulong could only nod somewhat stiffly.  
  
The lavendar-eyed gaze hardened somewhat. "He is."  
  
The cop blinked. "Say what?"  
  
"It's a long story. You want some breakfast?"  
  
"No, I want answers!" Well, at least his brain was working again. "Who are you?" They stopped in front of the elevator, not far from the Fury quarters, and Wulong moved so that he was standing right in front of her.  
  
She gave that soft smile, the one that told his highly trained eye that she knew more than she wished she did. "My name is Angel Leah. Your ex-partner, Bryan Fury, is my adopted brother. We're at this tournament in the hopes that we can save his life."  
  
Wulong was running out of facial expressions to show his shock and confusion. "What in the world are you talking about?"  
  
"Me," came a familiar voice from down the hall. The two figures turned, to see a shirtless, barefoot Bryan standing in the doorway to the hotel room, his hard gaze fixed on his ex-partner. Wulong visibly flinched at the sight of his once-friend's pale, scarred chest.  
  
"Bryan..." he breathed.  
  
Angel could feel the mental turmoil building in both minds. "Why don't we come inside and sit down? We all need to talk, I think."  
  
Bryan gave a frosty nod, as silent as death, his steel-blue eyes seeming to burn holes in Wulong. The Chinese cop forced himself to meet that gaze, taking in the sad, tortured picture of a bitter man that had once been so full of life.  
  
Angel perched on the edge of her bed while Bryan and Lei took chairs facing each other. No one spoke, the two former partners glowering at each other.  
  
"Don't everyone start talking at once," Angel muttered. Bryan gave her a withering glance, which she returned. "So, Mr. Wulong. Why are you still here? I thought you were defeated in your last fight."  
  
Wulong snorted. "I was. My opponent was Kazuya Mishima, of all people."  
  
Angel started. "That's Bryan's opponent this afternoon!" Both turned to stare at her, both with a seeming sense of dread. Bryan wasn't looking forward to this fight at all. "I've wanted to see him fight, and it looks like I'll get my chance..." she trailed off.  
  
"That's not good," Wulong said worriedly. "He fights with a determination unlike anything I've ever seen. He just stares at you, right before he tries to kill you. That, and he uses that martial-art form, the one that's rarely seen."  
  
"The Mishima-ryu style karate... not good at all," Angel murmured. "It's an extremely deadly art, specializing in doing maximum damage in a minimum of time. One good punch is enough to start off a whole chain of hits, all of them with full strength. This is not going to be a good fight at all." It came out calmly, as if she were reciting a lesson instead of idle worried chatter.  
  
"That's exactly right." Wulong's brows came together. "How would you know?"  
  
"Know what?"  
  
"How the Mishima-ryu style works? You described it perfectly, yet you just said you've never seen him fight." Wulong had a look on his face that Bryan remembered all too well, the look of a cop that sought information.  
  
"Maybe she's seen videos of his past fights," the elder Fury drawled, glaring at his former partner.  
  
"No, actually that's a very good question," Angel interrupted. "The answer is, I have no idea how I knew that. But I'm getting another one of those headaches," she said with a significant look at her brother. He looked baffled for a brief moment, before he suddenly understood and gave a slight nod.  
  
Then it hit him. That fighting style she had used the night he he met her, on those thugs... he'd thought it had looked familar. Could it have been Mishima-ryu? That guy he'd talked to at the 'tank incident' had said that she had been a Tekkenshu, so it wasn't entirely unlikely.  
  
He cleared his throat to get his sister's attention, and stared deep into her eyes. She read his thoughts, and her eyes widened. "No way... Mishima-ryu? You're sure?"  
  
"Do you know the name of that style you used that night?"  
  
"I know so many styles, I have trouble remembering them all. But no, I don't know the name of that one. Maybe you're right."  
  
Suddenly their guest coughed, to let them know that he was still there. "Ah, excuse me, but what are you talking about?"  
  
Bryan opened his mouth, but Angel beat him to it. "I'm an amnesiac. We don't know where I came from or anything about my past, but we believe that I may have been connected to Mishima Enterprises at one time. That's one of the reasons we're here."  
  
Wulong furrowed his brow. "But I thought you said he was your brother."  
  
"Adopted brother," Bryan managed to get in. "I was sent to help raise her after her half-baked asshole of a guardian committed suicide."  
  
"But how?" Wulong blurted, finally losing control to ask the burning question. "How in the hell are you still alive? I thought you were dead!"  
  
"You only wish," Bryan growled. "You left me to bleed to death in that alley, you mother-" Angel cleared her throat, and he calmed down about three hairs. "You have any idea what your own blood tastes like when it's mixed with gravel, and asphalt, and whatever else kinds of shit was left in that goddamn alley? You don't have a fuckin' clue what I've been through."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Enough," Angel growled. "Are you kids gonna play nice, or do I have to send you to your rooms?"  
  
Bryan gave her a glare that would have made a stronger man shit himself. "You stay out of this!"  
  
"I'm in this just as much as you are, Robocop." She put deliberate emphasis on the name, and his lip automatically curled back in a snarl.  
  
"The hell you are, psycho-bitch," he growled right back, and Wulong could have sworn he saw Angel's eyes get a little redder.  
  
"Can we please concentrate for a moment?" Wulong pleaded, inwardly praying to whatever god that might listen to spare his life if the two adopted siblings were to attack each other. They glared at each other for a few more minutes, then deliberately diverted their gazes in unison. Wulong gave a light sigh of relief. "You know, the more you tell me, the more I can help."  
  
Angel accepted the logic of that, although Bryan wasn't as forgiving. They bickered between each other for a few more minutes, before Bryan abruptly stood. "Fine, tell him everything. I'm gonna go take a shower." That said, her disappeared into the tiny hotel bathroom, leaving Angel and Wulong alone again.  
  
So Angel told him everything, using her telepathy to scan his thoughts as she spoke. He was genuinely shocked and concerned. A streak of bitterness rose when she tried to clarify why Bryan hated him. "I could have saved him," Wulong murmured, surprisingly close to tears. "If I hadn't been into my job so much, I could have took him back with us, and at least let him rest in peace."  
  
"Should have," Angel replied bluntly, "but it's a little late for that. Now all that's left is for me and Bryan to defeat Heihachi Mishima. We'll worry about everything else after that."  
  
Wulong sighed the heavy sigh of a burdened man. "I hope you're right," he murmured, glancing at the still-closed bathroom. "I hope you're right." 


End file.
